


The Deep Well

by Accidentallytechohazardous



Category: Bleach
Genre: Abduction, Angst with a Happy Ending, Captivity, Character Development, Claustrophobia, Cults, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Original Character(s), Politics, Post-Canon, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 92,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24101632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidentallytechohazardous/pseuds/Accidentallytechohazardous
Summary: Two years have passed since the Blood War, and Soul Society is eager to return to peace time. Renji’s reputation has sky-rocketed as a famous two-time war hero, and with three vacant captain positions it seems like he is a shoe-in to claim one of the spots.There’s a downside to all the attention that Renji has been getting, though. He isn’t too concerned at first, even though Izuru and Shuuhei are worried about things getting out of hand.He really should have listened. This is the story of how Lieutenant Abarai Renji went missing.
Relationships: Abarai Renji/Hisagi Shuuhei, Abarai Renji/Hisagi Shuuhei/Kira Izuru, Abarai Renji/Kira Izuru, Hisagi Shuuhei/Kira Izuru
Comments: 24
Kudos: 39





	1. Meat

Renji had memories of his childhood, but they didn’t stick well. It was hard to call what he, Rukia, and the other urchins of District 78 had a ‘childhood’, as much as it was hard to call what they had ever been ‘children’. 

In an ideal world children do not bandage their own scraped knees, using dirty rags instead of clean bandages. Children have toys and beds and hot baths and comforting embraces. People said that the Inuzuri orphans had more in common with stray pups than humans, and in this way they were not entirely wrong.

The young ones from Inuzuri recoiled from softness. They beat their skin into tough shells, sharpened their tongues like shards of glass. This way, the adults would not see them for what they really were; tender and pink. 

Renji and Rukia did this disguise well. As pups, they had sharp elbows with bones stretching against the skin like knives. When their feet scraped over rough stone, the soles refused to bleed. Rukia, especially, was clever as a rat and twice as quick. Renji couldn’t match her, so he focused on fighting with his fists and his reckless bravery instead of with his brain. 

There was a well in Inuzuri. A squat, stout pillar of stone, and a rope tied to a bucket. Often it was so dry that there was no water to be scooped into that bucket at all, and when there was it was always sour and flecked with rust. 

This was the reason Renji gave Rukia for why he never went to the well. 

In reality, it wasn’t the taste or the disappointment of dry mud on his hands that kept him away. It was the depth. 

The well was deep, as wells are often meant to be. A hole that burrowed so far into the ground that the Sun couldn’t reach the bottom. It was the deepest, thickest darkness Renji had ever seen. It yawned up at him, looking hungry. 

Too often, Renji thought about what would happen if someone fell in there. If their body would break when they finally hit the bottom. Or if the well would keep them prisoner until the need for food and light finally drained the life out of them. 

He thought about the reek of their rotting corpse drifting to the surface, smelling like a drowned pig. Or if it would break down completely, flesh dissolving and leaving behind only a sour taste in the water. 

Renji never did tell Rukia or anybody else about his fear of the well. And in time, he even forgot it completely. Another faded memory, another bad dream. Renji could almost convince himself that those days in the Inuzuri had never happened. 

* * *

Renji was in grave danger, and this time there was no easy way out. 

He squinted at the sky, trying to find the Sun and how close it was to setting. But a cluster of gray clouds blocked his vision, and his efforts were rewarded with a cold drop of rain slapping him right between the eyes. 

“Lovely.” Renji turned his scowl from the traitorous sky down to the street, where more raindrops were already starting to freckle the paved sidewalks. 

Running through the street like a madman was beneath him, but so was getting soaked. So Renji dashed through the narrow streets of the Seireitei with a decided lack of elegance or dignity.

His efforts were all in vain. Even as Renji slammed open the entrance to the izakaya, huffing and dripping in the doorway, all his so-called friends turned to him from their usual table. 

“Late!” 

“Fuck.” Renji groaned. He signaled to a hostess, and twirled his finger in the air that she should bring a round over to the table. It would all go on his tab. 

Rukia glowed with smugness, hands folded on top of the table as Renji slumped his way to the low table. “Aww, poor thing.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, though without any real vitriol. He took his usual seat between Izuru and Shuuhei. The latter poured him a hot drink from the porcelain pot of sake, while the former took to dabbing at Renji’s damp hair with one of the cloth napkins. 

“No umbrella, huh?” Izuru smirked and wiped the water off of Renji’s brow. “You could stand to be a little more careful. What will you do if you get sick?” 

“Rely on the comfort and support of my loved ones?”

Shuuhei snorted into his own sake dish. “More like you’ll be a big sloppy mess, like you are every year when you get sick. You’re so lucky Izuru loves to dote on you.”

Across the table, Rangiku drummed her nails against the table. “Ugh, I get so exhausted watching them bicker-flirt. Just go home and fuck already! Pass the karaage, please.” 

Momo was seated on the blond’s left, lifted the plate of fried chicken for Rangiku before offering some to Renji. “So what happened, Abarai-kun? Did your captain keep you late again?” 

“Ugh. That guy, what an asshole. No offense, Kuchiki-san.” 

Rukia, however, was in the middle of taking a big swig from her dish, and waved off the comment dismissively. 

“No, not this time.” Renji was immediately feeling better with some food and sake in him, feeling the coldness from outside evaporate from his body. “Rikichi wants to apply for the Twelfth seat vacancy, so he was beggin’ me to spar with him. I wouldn’t say it was useful, though.” 

“Isn’t that the kid who has a huge crush on you?” Shuuhei asked. 

“Oh, yeah. Big time. With the…” Renji drew a line over the tattoos across his right temple, indicating where Rikichi had gotten a suspiciously familiar ink job.

“You know, you really shouldn’t encourage that kind of thing.” Rangiku frowned, and yanked a strand of her blond hair. “From someone who’s had a lot of not-so-secret admirers, you need to nip that situation in the bud before things get out of hand. Get someone else to train him.” 

Renji shrugged. “I have a policy to abide by. Every time a member of the Sixth challenges me, I take them up on it. It makes them a little more ambitious, I think. And it’s not like they’re going to be challenging Captain Kuchiki to a fight.” 

“I suppose you’re much more approachable, even though you’re captain-level, yourself.” Momo said thoughtfully. A small smile curved her pink lips. “Speaking of which. Are you going to, y’know…” 

Renji stared back. “‘Y’know’ what?” 

Momo flushed as all eyes at the table turned to her. “Well, we currently have three vacant captain positions. Kuchiki-san is a shoe-in for Captain of the Thirteenth Division, so that leaves the 7th and 8th.” 

Now it was Rukia’s turn to blush pink. “‘Shoe-in’ is pretty extreme, Hinamori-san!” 

“She does have an interesting point, though.” Izuru chipped in, resting his hand on Renji’s elbow. “That still leaves two vacancies. And I can’t imagine you’re not a candidate, with your record.”

Shuuhei nodded, “You should ask your captain to recommend you. That would probably seal the deal.” 

“Okay, we’re making a lot of assumptions, here!” Renji blustered, waving his hand. “We dunno if I’d be a candidate. I don’t even think I’d be a good captain!” 

“Well, let’s be real. A lot of the current captains have set the bar really low.” Rangiku pointed out smoothly. Momo linked her arms through Rangiku’s elbow and nodded in solemn agreement. “I don’t think you could do worse.” 

Well, she had a point there.

The walk home was not something to look forward to. Thankfully the sky had not opened up to set loose sheets of rain, it only pattered loosely on the geometric pavement. Bellies fuller and wallets lighter, the six of them stepped out of the establishment to split into groups of three.

“Where are you guys off to next?” Renji asked Rukia. Behind her he saw Momo, the only one among them with any sense, open up an umbrella. Rangiku took it from her to hold over her head, smiling and ignoring the rain that dampened her own hair.

“Nowhere in particular. Home, I guess.” Rukia said. She spoke to Renji, but she was looking over her shoulder at the two other women. 

Renji raised his eyebrows, eyes flicking from Rukia over to where Momo was fussing over Rangiku. “Hmm.”

He was given a familiar, icy glare for his efforts. Rukia’s eyes narrowed at him, and she combed her fingers through her bangs to cover a slight flush to her cheeks. “What? What’s the matter with you?” 

“Nothin’.”

She gave Renji one last withering frown to gently remind him of his own business, before turning her back to him. Rukia easily slid under the cover of Rangiku’s umbrella, and the girls began to head home. 

Gray mist rose off the pavement. Momo slipped her arms around Rangiku’s elbow, putting them in lock-step. Rangiku tilted the umbrella over their heads, her pink lips curving in fondness as she spoke softly to Rukia.

Renji didn’t have much time to watch them drift further and further away before Shuuhei called his attention. He retrospectively thought he should remind Rukia not to get caught doing anything, lest that information find its way to her brother.

The neighborhood was quiet. Clean. The Seireitei had missed most of the war, and what damage remained was quickly repaired to resurrect usual business. On the other side of things, much of the Rukongai remained in disrepair, or what accounted for disrepair when the districts were already falling to pieces. 

And there were those who had fought in the war, cut to pieces in the feud between quincy and shinigami. The chill burned Izuru’s cheeks pink, though not as pink as they once had been. He wore gloves now, so that when you touched his hand you could not feel the unnatural coldness of his skin. 

Shuuhei was busier now than he had ever been, the Seireitei clinging to the Communications for an anchor. Shuuhei was eager to take the paper in a new direction, and use his power as editor to bring the social injustices of Soul Society to light. But Captain Commander Kyoraku found a way to sabotage his efforts each time. He wanted Shuuhei to instead cover a noble’s wedding, or announce a pregnancy. Anything light, fluffy and inoffensive. It was beginning to grind on the Ninth lieutenant’s gears. 

A heavy guilt threatened to drop in Renji’s stomach. He was, perhaps, the only person in Soul Society who had the war work out completely in his favor. Squad Zero had acknowledged him, something Renji didn’t even know was within the realm of possibilities. His prestige had sky-rocketed to a two-time war hero. He had fame. Admiration. Expectations.

Renji didn’t know what to do with it at all. 

Maybe Momo was right, and the next step for Renji was to apply to become a captain. He wanted to grow, after all. To become more powerful than Byakuya, and then some day even Ichigo. But when he thought of himself in the white captain’s haori, he felt strangely… empty. Unmotivated. 

He reached out, and Renji took Izuru’s gloved hand into his own. He rubbed his thumb over those slender fingers, the delicate, knobby knuckles. A faint cross-breeze brought the scent of Shuuhei’s aftershave to Renji’s nose, smelling bitter and familiar and clean. He was sure of at least two things.

Renji knew this road that they were walking. They had taken it home many times before. It was only too easy to fall into a kind of contented sleepwalk on the way.

This was a poor excuse. Renji should know better than to let his guard down. He should have been more like Izuru. He should have noticed quicker that the blond kept glancing over his shoulder. 

He squeezed Izuru’s hand. Renji didn’t dare to look over and blow Izuru’s cover. He heard Izuru say under his breath, in a secret and low voice he reserved for bedroom whispers and secret plots. 

“Don’t turn around.” 

The next instant was full of the electrical crackle of kidou. Izuru released Renji’s hand and turned on his heel, a burning arc of sky-blue byakurai leapt from his fingertips. 

The lightning strike shot down the street, bathing the storefronts in a split-second shower of white light. Renji heard Shuuhei yell in surprise, and he also had to recoil from the burning sparks as the lightning seared the air. 

The strike landed on a pile of crates, and they burst into a shower of flames and splinters. And from the small explosion, a dark shadow darted out of the smoke. The sudden and unnatural light cast long shadows across the ground, making an elongated monster out of the form of a human figure. 

Time stopped at the emergence of the figure, dressed in stealthy black with a hood pulled up. Renji saw a glint of silver in the mysterious person’s hand, revealing the flash of a blade. 

Shinigami did not typically carry their zanpakuto off-duty. To do so was an unnecessary display of force to civilians. But the three of them were more than dangerous even with their bare hands. Renji put up his hands to fight and saw Shuuhei do the same. His ears popped with the crackle of kido again as Izuru readied another spell. 

Then, the stranger faced them. 

Where a face would be was instead only a flat plate of porcelain, with two yawning black holes for the eyes. In the place of a mouth was a simple illustration of a flower, the head facing downwards under the weight of its own petals.

Even with adrenaline coursing through his veins, even with the fullest confidence that he, Shuuhei and Izuru could destroy this single opponent without breaking a sweat, Renji felt his feet frozen to the ground. 

He realized what it must have been-- he could sense no reiatsu from the figure at all. No, it was even less than none. As if there was simply a gaping void where a person should be.

And, yes, there was also that inexplicable sense Renji had. He felt positive that despite the mask, the figure was staring right at him. 

The figure’s arm moved quickly, flinging the knife from their wrist. “Renji!” 

Renji put up his covered arms in time to deflect the blade that was inches away from his face, and it easily bounced off his reiatsu-toughened skin. Harmlessly, the knife fell to the ground. A mere distraction. 

“Don’t let them--” But when Renji lowered his arms to look again, of course they were gone. “... get away. Dammit.” 

“Renji, are you alright?” Izuru was at his side in an instant, eyes bright and alive with concern. 

“That was nothing, just a fake-out.”

Shuuhei looked at the knife, where it lay dead against the cobblestone. People had heard the commotion, and lantern lights were beginning to flicker on as civilians filtered outside to inspect the scene. 

He sat down on his heels and picked up the knife. In his strong hand, it looked smaller than Renji thought it had when it was flying at his eyes. The hilt was plain and black, with no guard to protect the user’s hand. 

“Huh.” Shuuhei turned his wrist, looking at the knife critically. “That’s weird.” 

“What is it?”

Shuuhei turned to Renji and Izuru, and held the knife up to show. “It’s an ordinary kitchen knife. For carving meat.” 

A kitchen knife. Their mysterious stalker had thrown a kitchen knife at them before running away like a coward. Renji couldn’t help but feel offended. 

Izuru’s narrowed eyes swiveled from one side of the street to the other. He looped his arm around Renji’s elbow. “Let’s talk about this more at home. I would like to get inside.” 

A few years ago, the three shinigami had pooled together their resources to buy a house. Under ordinary circumstances this would be no issue for someone of Izuru’s status. But his parents had died many years ago and his family fortune had dissolved entirely. In the hierarchy of Seireitei, he was the least of the least noble. Better than a commoner, but barely.

They were able to afford a small cabin, which was what they wanted. A humble, one-story structure of wood standing alone in an empty field. Tall grass tickled the sides of the porch, and at night you could hear the gentle rustle of foxes stalking through the underbrush. 

To Renji, it was perfect. An escape from the hustle and bustle of the Seireitei, and the judgemental eyes of the Gotei. It was a space only for them. 

The inside of their home was more tense than welcoming this night. The three of them stood around the low table in the center room, looking down at the knife lying stoically against the finished wood. 

“So,” Renji began, “Who is trying to kill us this time?”

Obviously, all of them knew what it was like to face down murderous intent. They had been in war. But as foot soldiers, none of them had ever been important enough to warrant their own assassination attempt. 

“We can assume they weren’t genuinely trying to kill us,” Shuuhei reminded him. “At this point, it’s more like harassment.”

“Yes, for now. But this was only the first move,” Izuru said, and reached out to pick up the knife. His meaning was clear: things would only escalate from here. 

Izuru’s thin fingers explored the modest weapon, turning it over and raking it with narrow, cold eyes. Izuru’s friends knew him as a gentle soul, and his enemies knew him as a sadistic bastard. The moment the masked figure had thrown a blade at Renji, Izuru had already decided they were a legitimate threat to be eliminated. 

“A carving knife. They are insulting us.” Izuru’s fingers were spider legs climbing over the wooden hilt. “A taunt. ‘I could kill you, but you’re not worth the effort. You are like swine to me’.”

Shuuhei chewed on his knuckle, eyes dark like churning gears. “The mask was distinctive. There must be some meaning to it.” 

The air was grim, all the joy and warmth from earlier in the evening completely suffocated. Renji felt his head get heavy, and he went to the kitchen to prepare the evening tea. 

Shuuhei looked over his shoulder as Renji started to set the kettle on the stove. “Renji?” 

“You two are taking this too seriously.” Renji struck the matches to light the stove. The thin wood felt delicate in his large fingers. Usually, Shuuhei was the one who prepared the tea, his hands were clever. “Slow down for a second and think about this; a stranger in a stupid mask followed us for a few blocks before their cover was easily blown. Once we found them, they ran away instead of confronting us. We’re supposed to consider that a serious threat? If you’re scared of them, you’re just giving them the attention they want.”

He didn’t need to look back at the sitting room to know that Izuru and Shuuhei were sharing a furtive glance. They thought that Renji was letting his pride get in the way. 

“So, what do you want to do?” 

Renji shrugged his back at them. “I don’t think we should do anything. Let them think they’ve won this round, and next time we’ll catch them.” 

There was a silence of contemplation. “I guess that makes sense. We don’t need to panic or anything,” Shuuhei admitted. Izuru made a noise in his throat. He didn’t agree. 

Renji took three teacups from the cabinet, earthenware and fragile in his calloused hands. He had garnered a reputation for being passionate and headstrong, quicker to act on his heart than on his brain.

But he wasn’t dumb. Too many near-death experiences had made Renji numb to pointless danger, and no one would catch him slipping this time. 

In the morning, Renji woke up from a dreamless and stubborn sleep. Drowsiness clung to his brain and his limbs, pushing him down. He willed his body to stretch, to warm up the blood in his skin. 

He reached across the distance of the bed, and found an empty, cold place where Izuru had been. Rolling to the other side, Shuuhei’s spot was also empty. This was not uncommon, Renji was the late-riser of the group. There was no need for trepidation. Renji tucked his sleeping yukata closer to his chest and ventured to the family room. 

It was quiet. The morning was usually filled with Shuuhei banging around, cursing a storm and making a big fuss over getting breakfast done, preparing lunches, and having every little thing be ready. 

The table was already set, still-steaming bowls of rice, miso soup and grilled fish, so Shuuhei had certainly been here. However, Izuru was the only one sitting at the table, sipping black tea. 

“Good morning.” Izuru smiled easily. He could only do so at home, the rest of the world got his grim frown. But here, he was a softer and lighter man. 

Renji scooted to the table and began to serve himself. “Mornin’. Where’s Shuuhei?” 

“He left early to do some research for the paper. He went out all hopped up on coffee from the press, I expect he’s going to be pissing fire later.” 

Renji snickered. He loved when Izuru was crude to entertain him. 

The meal was easy on the palette. Though it seemed a bit plain, it was always worth remembering that Shuuhei took time to cook first thing in the morning, before going straight to his two jobs. 

Renji liked his cooking, especially with it as filling as it was. The salty, savory flavors of the fish and miso balanced out with the generous dollops of honey that Renji added to his black tea. 

Izuru knew this, and waited until Renji was full and content, ready to get up and get dressed in his shihakusho for work. 

“Renji-kun,” He started carefully. Izuru only used the ‘kun’ when he was being cute and asking for favors. “Maybe you should stay home today. I can tell Captain Kuchiki that you caught a cold in the rain. I’m sure it wouldn’t be a problem.” 

Renji sighed. “We talked about this.” 

“It would just make me feel better,” Izuru insisted. 

Part of Renji wanted to indulge him. Izuru’s greatest strength was his mind, not his brawn. And yet he always had the urge to try and protect Renji. As if Renji was something precious to be defended. 

And for Renji, who was used to fighting and working and gritting his teeth, being embraced into that kind of devotion felt like a luxury. Izuru could make even Renji feel like a prince. 

But Renji wasn’t a prince, nor was he someone who could afford to sit around all day when he had responsibilities to fill. 

“Nothing is going to happen,” Renji pushed. 

Izuru’s shoulders fell with disappointment and guilt, his eyes turned down. “Yeah, I know you’re right. Sorry, I’m being weird.”

Renji reached under the table and rubbed the palm of his hand up Izuru’s thigh. Yukatas were never intended to reveal much of one’s figure, but Renji could always tell where the familiar lines of Izuru’s body was underneath his baggy clothes. Renji would know them even if he were blind. 

“I’ll come right home after work,” Renji smiled, toothy and honest, “if you’re here.” 

Izuru saw the flirtation in an instant, and the hard look in his eyes melted like spring ice. “Alright, if you promise.” 

Renji pressed his forehead to Izuru’s, inhaled the smell of his soap and the scent of old books that stuck to him like perfume. “I promise.”

* * *

The Seireitei had many claims to fame, primarily because the Rukongai had nothing to compete with. This did not, however, mean that the beautiful and impressive structures built in the noble city did not deserve their prestige. 

There were two libraries in the Seireitei that were open to the public. One was the Seireitei Public Library, and the other was the Shin’o Academy Library, which had a much smaller collection geared towards the curriculum of their buzzing students. 

The Seireitei Public Library was like the grown-up version of the Academy’s. The interior was a beautiful testament to how architecture could elevate serenity and focus, with a series of spiraling staircases that climbed the many floors of the building. 

In the center of each floor was an octagonal gap that was lined with safety railings, so that one could stand at the edge and peer down all the way to the floor level. It also conveniently displayed the hundreds upon thousands upon, possibly, millions of books that lined the shelves that lined the walls. The air was rich with the musk of parchment and history. 

Shuuhei walked through the aisles of Soul Society’s history, trying to figure how he was going to get a lick of useful intel from this tsunami of information. The Seireitei did love to reflect on its own greatness, after all, and most books here would probably be white noise of self-important historians over the things that actually mattered. 

I came all this way, Shuuhei stomped down his irritation, might as well try.

The history of famous assassinations in Seireitei. The significance of painted masks on stealth soldiers or ninjas. Anything that might relate to secret societies in Soul Society. Shuuhei collected a stack of dusty tomes and maneuvered them to one of the many empty tables where wrinkled scholars poured over their studies. 

That mask, Shuuhei decided, must have significance. They would not have worn such a distinctive disguise if it didn’t have some symbolic meaning. 

He wondered if it was worth it to speak to Captain Soi Fon, who everyone knew to be the expert of stealth in the Gotei. But no, even if Soi Fon dignified Shuuhei with an audience, she probably would not tell him anything helpful. Shuuhei knew that Renji had been right, that a single stalker was not enough for anyone to take seriously. 

But he worried, still. He worried as he started combing through the books for anything that might seem familiar. 

Renji didn’t see Soul Society the way that Shuuhei did. He thought that perhaps no shinigami did, not even Izuru with his clever eyes and artist’s heart. Shuuhei had spent the last two years carefully watching information stream into his office, and when the knowledge he wanted did not come in on its own then Shuuhei went out to find it. Kyoraku’s insistence on muzzling Shuuhei only made him more suspicious. 

Before Aizen, Soul Society had never seen an all-out war. Now it had witnessed two. For the Rukongai, this was only the latest in disasters and misery. But the Seireitei and its noble houses now understood they had something to lose. 

Shuuhei brushed his bangs out of his eyes, and curved his spine over the pages. He scanned through line after line of text, willing something to jump out at him. It was too convenient. Renji had been acknowledged by Squad Zero and the court of the Soul King. He was finally a viable candidate for captaincy. It was to be expected that he would become a target to the public. 

Like Matsumoto had said last night, these kinds of things needed to be nipped in the bud. 

* * *

Renji knew that going to work was the right decision. Explaining absences to Captain Kuchiki was such a pain anyways. Byakuya never said anything, but he dripped with disappointment in a way that Renji always hated. 

Even so, Renji knew he was a good lieutenant. He worked hard, he never shirked his duties. It was ironic that for most of Renji’s time in the Gotei, most people assumed he would never be able to button down and act decently. They didn’t know that the only reason Renji got this far was his perfectionist streak paired with an inability to ever know when to quit. 

When he started as lieutenant, the 6th Division was alien and hostile grounds to him. What had evolved since then was genuine fondness. The Sixth had plenty of uninspiring personalities who cared more about the squad’s pretentious reputation than doing their actual jobs, but it also had a collection of stalwart officers whose loyalty to their allies was unparalleled.

“Suzuki requested back-up on a hot spot that just opened up in his territory, so Unit 1 is going to be assigned to Sector 509 for hollow extermination and konso.” Renji squinted at the clipboard in his hands and chewed on the end of his pen. “And if you could all do me a solid and not stray into Sector 508 unless you absolutely have to, that’d be swell. That’s 7th Division territory, and if I need to have another discussion with Iba about ‘stepping on his toes’ I’m gonna bash my head in.”

He looked up off his paper to the two shinigami standing before him. Fourth Seat Ishioka Midari and Fifth Seat Sanada Hiro had both been in the 6th longer than Renji had, and when he was second-guessing his own judgement on squad affairs he usually deferred to them. 

Ishioka was an older, elegant woman with sharp eyebrows and a shock of silver that ran through her stylishly pinned hair. She was an intense and private woman, though at least once she had shown Renji a picture of her son, who was not much younger than Renji himself. 

More importantly, though, she was the leader of Unit 1. Ishioka raised a hand to her throat and made an expression of faint disdain. “We aren’t going to need those horrible gigai-things, will we?” 

“No, you probably won’t need to interact with any humans at all.”

“That’s a relief.” 

“So patrol duty for Unit 1 will be split up between 2 and 3 for the next week. Next up, the schedule for training ground availability is gonna be posted--”

“Wait, hold on!” Sanada stuck his hand high in the air. Renji and Ishioka turned their eyes towards him expectantly, waiting through a beat of silence.

“You don’t need to raise your hand. This isn’t school.” Ishioka clicked her tongue, but Renji hushed her and gestured for Sanada to speak up. 

Sanada’s face reddened, and he dropped his hand down to swing awkwardly at his side. He stood out quite a bit in the 6th with his dark, earthy skin and long, black hair braided down his back. As a result, he tended to shy away from the spotlight. Renji could understand where he came from.

“Er,” His big eyes shifted around the floor. “Toyotomi-san already asked me to cover for Unit 3. We don’t have the manpower to cover three patrol routes.”

Renji’s teeth dug into the end of his pen. Now that he thought about it, Third Seat Toyotomi Gensei was supposed to be at this meeting. Renji was as sure that he sent the memo to his desk as he was that office work was a horrible burden. “Does anyone know where Toyotomi is?” 

“No, and he’s probably ditching again.” Ishioka scoffed with disapproval. “He’s been so flaky lately. Always coming up with some excuse about taking care of his niece or whatever.”

Sanada fidgeted next to her, and Renji had to silently sympathize. Ishioka was right that it was hard to work with someone who was never around, and usually Renji didn’t have a problem getting strict with subordinates who were slacking off. But Toyotomi was kind of an… exception.

He sighed through his nose. “Go ahead and take Unit 3’s patrols off your schedule. I’ll sort it out.” 

It was the right thing to do. Renji never shyed away from a chance to step up on the battlefield in person, take matters into his own hands. But his job required him to focus on running things smoothly from behind the scenes. And unlike in a fight where you either won or you lost, these situations never seemed to have a correct answer. 

Renji dismissed Sanada and Ishioka. And as confident as he was in their mutual loyalty to the 6th, and as sure as he was that he was doing everything possible to help them, Renji couldn’t shake the crawling suspicion they would wait until he was just out of earshot to criticize him to pieces. That was just to be expected around here. 

Another unnecessary chore added to Renji’s day; tracking down officers shirking responsibility. It’s not like there weren’t enough hiding spots around the Seireitei for people to disappear in, and Renji didn’t have enough time to run all over the city. 

Toyotomi had the bad habit of vanishing, but Renji was at least pretty confident he’d show up eventually. He just hated feeling like a hard-ass when he followed his subordinates around to push them about work. 

“Hey, Toyotomi! Wait up, I gotta talk to you.”

It was made harder when those subordinates were aggressively polite, facing around to Renji with a blindingly toothy smile. “Well, of course, Lieutenant! What can I do for ya’?” 

At Toyotomi’s overwhelming positivity, Renji’s resolution began to dissolve. The Third Seat was an older gentleman, supposedly he had been in the Sixth Division even longer than Byakuya had been, and by all accounts he should have been Renji’s senior. 

It didn’t help either that Toyotomi had a kind, grandfatherly air to him. He was a big man, almost as tall as Renji, but his heavier build and gentle demeanor made him far less intimidating a figure. He had been bald for as long as Renji had known him, wrinkles on his forehead and laughter lines around his eyes, with a gray beard peppered with white around his broad smile. 

Renji really felt bad bossing around a kindly old man. But he imagined Ishioka’s frown and Byakuya’s stony expression of disapproval and mustered up his resolve. “Listen, uh, Toyotomi. We gotta talk about Unit 3…”

“Ah, that’s right! I had asked young Sanada to cover me a few days. Well, cat’s outta the bag now. Don’t be hard on the poor lad, he was only trying to do this old man a favor.” Toyotomi’s eyes crinkled into half-moons, arms crossed over his broad chest comfortably.

“Yeah, for sure. But Ishioka’s taking Unit 1 on a mission, so you and Sanada are going to have to split up her group’s patrol routes.” 

Toyotomi’s grey eyebrows climbed over his wide forehead. “Oh, really? I had no idea! Well, I’ll step right up again and get back to it.” 

Internally, Renji pushed down the urge to tell Toyotomi not to rush. He really did need to get these things settled, but he couldn’t let Gensei have even an inch of wiggle room to slip out of his obligations. 

(Honestly, why didn’t the old man just retire like Shirogane? Renji could promote Ishioka to his seat and save everyone a lot of trouble.)

“Not to be nosy,” Renji said, definitely being nosy. “But Sanada mentioned you had been out a lot because of your niece.” 

“Oh, yes! Young Chiaki, my younger brother’s little girl.” Toyotomi gave Renji an impossibly wide grin, suddenly flush with pride. “She’s a… well, every young lady goes through that time, right? They want to test their limitations and become adventurous, and that sometimes turns to willfulness. I was sticking around more to help keep an eye on her. But she’s a good girl, really! I have nothing but high hopes for her.”

“Hmm.” Renji tried to sound sympathetic. Really, he couldn’t begin to understand shinigami who managed to keep semi-intact family lives. The risk just seemed too high, always knowing that you might die and leave your loved ones. Then again, he could easily say the same thing about his own relationship. That was as much a family as anything Gensei was talking about, right?

“Ah! But what am I doing, prattling on about myself like an old fool?” Gensei scratched the back of his neck with aged, strong hands. “I should be offering you good luck! Though perhaps congratulations are more in order, since you’re bound to get top marks, Lieutenant?”

Renji’s brows furrowed, he cocked his head while the gears in his brain churned furiously. What had happened? Did Byakuya mention something that somehow escaped him. “What d’you mean?”

“Well, you’re going to apply for the captain’s entrance exam, right? It’s only natural! Everyone knows it!” Gensei clapped a hand on Renji’s shoulder jovially, his enthusiasm easily spilling over. “A strong, dedicated lad like you has more than earned it.” 

“Oh.”

That same numb feeling from last night began to sink under Renji’s skin. It was so frustrating, hearing this from his Third seat should have filled Renji with confidence and excitement. Wasn’t it always Renji’s ambition to stand on equal level with his captain? 

Instead, he felt an infuriating degree of nothing. 

Renji quickly shifted gears though, covering his ambivalence with humility. “I don’t know about that. I still have a long way to go before I’m on Captain Kuchiki’s level, after all.”

“You must give yourself some credit! You’ll set a good example for young Rikichi-san.” Toyotomi gushed. “That poor boy-- I can’t imagine how he’ll take it if you did leave the Sixth.”

“Don’t make me even think about it…” Renji muttered grimly before he could stop himself, but Toyotomi just laughed it off as if it were a joke. 

“Right, speaking of Rikichi, he was looking for you earlier. He ascended from the hell butterfly compound to the mailroom today, I’m sure he has all sorts of forms and paperwork for you and the Captain.”

“Great. Can’t wait.” Renji turned and started back towards his and Byakuya’s office. Knowing Rikichi, if he couldn’t find Renji right away he would just run all over the city, stumbling and dropping important documents on the ground left and right. He’d better intercept before the kid made a mess. 

Realization hit Renji like a slap to the face, and he turned around to where Toyotomi had just been standing. “Hey, don’t forget what I said about Unit 3--”

But he should have known better. Because Toyotomi had already slipped away. “Shit.” 

The door to the captain and lieutenant’s office slid open and then closed firmly shut. Renji had exhausted his patience for the day already and fell into the uncomfortable chair and his uncomfortable desk. No more running around after air-headed officers, Rikichi could come find Renji himself if he wanted to. 

Byakuya’s desk was behind him, the captain sitting in front of the window to the courtyard so that the sunlight landed in an optimal position for reading long, dry documentation. Renji’s desk was closer to the door, which had the awkward impact of making him feel a little bit like he was Byakuya’s receptionist. 

Renji slumped in his seat and waited for Byakuya to look up from writing notes to ask what why he was moping. All he got was a quiet, stern reminder, “Renji, don’t slam the door.” 

“Yes, sir.” Renji leaned his elbow against his desk and propped his head up against his fist. 

Perhaps Renji shouldn’t have bothered coming to the office to kill time until Rikichi found him, because now there was absolutely no reasonable barrier between himself and the stack of paperwork on his own desk that still needed his attention. Renji’s eyes glanced over it, and was assaulted by a miasma of numbers and dull statements that made his brain feel like it was going to melt out of his ears. 

Renji grimaced at the papers, prodding them with suspicion. It wasn’t fair, plenty of other shinigami seemed to have no problem sitting down and churning out completed paperwork like it was nothing, he had been lieutenant for a few years and he still had a hard time sitting still. But he would just power through, like he did with everything else.

It just made him question what he was doing, you know? Like, when he was fighting hollows it was such a simple issue; he had to win because he couldn’t afford to lose. But when it came to sending forms and files around the hundreds of offices of the Gotei, Renji had to wonder how much of the mindless busywork he was doing actually mattered. If the more important Renji became, the more pointless he was. 

It was actually a relief when Renji heard Rikichi’s stumbling footsteps thumping down the hall. The dark-haired young man had an amazing propensity for bumbling up basic tasks, but at least he tried his best. And he was the only person in the division always prepared with a positive smile.

“‘Morning, Renji!” Rikichi slammed the door open with a big, goofy grin. He hefted the large mailbag on his shoulder, not seeming to notice a few stray papers slipping out of the canvas sack. “Oh! And good morning to you, Captain Kuchiki.”

“Rikichi, do not slam the door.” 

“Sorry, Sir.” Rikichi bowed diligently before crossing the threshold and approaching Byakuya’s desk. He retrieved a stack of papers bound with brown string. “These came in for you this morning, Captain. There’s a lot in there, but I think most of it is from Squad One asking your opinions about the new uniform standardizations and wardrobe policy?”

“Excellent. I’ve been anticipating those for some time now.” Byakuya pulled the bundle towards him with the first sliver of joy that Renji had seen in him all day. 

With his professional obligations out of the way, Rikichi bounced over to Renji’s desk. He had new beads on his braid; they were orange and black. They looked awfully familiar to the tiger-print bandanna that Renji had taken to wearing some days. Hmm.

“So whats going on, Renji? Are we gonna train again today or what?” Rikichi put up his fists like he was getting ready to box. 

Renji opened his mouth to respond, then shut it again. He had told Izuru this morning that he would come home first thing after the work hours were over. Now, hours later, that promise still sounded a little silly. 

But he knew that Izuru took things like that seriously. Renji didn’t like the idea of leaving Izuru to wait and wallow at home, either worried about Renji’s safety or betrayed that Renji would break a promise. 

“Sorry, but I gotta take a raincheck on that today. Maybe tomorrow evening.”

“Oh. Okay.” Rikichi’s face fell, but his jubilation kicked right back up with bright eyes. “Is something going on? Are you going on a mission? Is it in the World of the Living with Ichigo?”

Before Renji had to think of a reasonable answer, Byakuya’s voice cut through his attention. “Renji, you have a letter.” 

His voice was unreadable, but the statement was enough to kill the conversation and make both Renji and Rikichi perk up. 

Renji didn’t receive letters. When other shinigami wanted to contact him, they sent hell butterflies for important messages and used their soul communicators for the unimportant. Letters were for patient, refined communication that needed to be delivered with a certain amount of gravitas.

There was one group that Renji knew would send formal letters. Central 46 would sign their expensive, white parchment with expensive black ink, stamp their letters with their insignia to warn of their prominence. In the very rare case, a letter signaled something special like a summons. Or a promotion. 

Renji approached Byakuya’s desk and took the letter, flipping it over to scan both sides. It was not from Central 46. There was no insignia on it, and the envelope was aged yellow with brown stains tinting the corners. 

Well, there was nothing else for it.

Byakuya and Rikichi watched as Renji broke the seal. A sour, metallic scent rose out of the envelope and Renji pulled out the letter and unfolded it. 

Yellow teeth fell from the paper, bouncing off the hardwood floor and scattering like rain. Sharpened, triangle-shaped canines with flecks of black flesh still clinging to enamel. Dog’s teeth. Rikichi’s face went pale. 

“What-- what is…”

Even Byakuya appeared to be unsettled, his brows furrowed over gray, wide eyes. “What is it, Renji?” 

Renji regarded the page for a minute, before holding it up for Byakuya to read. 

The text was messy, barely even legible. Scrawled in dark red, almost brown that dripped down the paper. In a sour dried blood was the loud message, ‘ _NO DAMNED DOGS’_. 

He could hear Rikichi swallow dryly, the prickle of fear crawling up his throat. Byakuya seemed frozen, his pen dripping ink down the heel of his hand and staining his white gloves. “Renji--” 

The sound of paper crumpling crunched through the air, deafening. Renji’s hands squeezed the letter, envelope and all, into a little ball in his strong palms. Once it had been crushed to the point of insignificance as much as it could, he tossed it into the wastebasket next to Byakuya’s desk. 

“Rikichi,” Renji said, keeping his tone calm and pleasant. “Get the broom and dustpan from the supply closet.” 

Rikichi could only nod and quickly dashed into the hall. It was the quietest Renji had ever seen him. 

Byakuya looked at Renji’s face and blinked owlishly, before looking down at the floor where the teeth had fallen. “Renji.” He said again, and grappled for something to follow it up with. 

Izuru had been right, Renji realized. Things were escalating. And it was getting annoying. 

Renji pushed back his irritation, forced himself to smile. “Sorry, Captain, that you had to see a stupid prank like that. It won’t happen in this office again.” 

It was almost funny, the shocked expression on Byakuya’s face. A mask of cold indifference was more his thing than Renji’s, but it had instantly been broken. It looked like he was having trouble digesting something. “We need to make a report of this. We cannot let such disrespect towards a lieutenant of the Sixth Division go unaddressed.”

Made sense, he would try to angle this as protecting the reputation of the Sixth Division. That way, Renji could cover up his honor. 

“A report to who?”

“We can take it to internal affairs. We must launch an investigation.” 

It would lead to nothing, naturally. A threatening letter was even less significant than a single stalker. Internal affairs would glance over the report and throw it in the trash, just like Renji had done. 

“If that’s what you want, Captain.” 

It wasn’t like this was the first time that Renji had been insulted for his origins. Of course it wasn’t. In the academy or during his first years in the Fifth Division, being from District 78 was a free pass for every noble whelp to practice their superiority. Whether it was cruel words or sadistic pranks, anything went.

But that was back when Renji was a nobody. Now his enemies had to be a little more ambitious in order to get his attention. 

“Oh, so you have, like, a serious business stalker.” Ikkaku raised an eyebrow. 

“You think so?” 

“What else could it be? Use your brain.” 

In the past, Ikkaku had been Renji’s confidante. Not so much since Renji’s promotion, but loyalty between members of the Eleventh went a little deeper than that of most other squads. 

Renji still chewed on whether or not to tell Shuuhei and Izuru about the letter. Was it worth it to add more material to Shuuhei’s conspiracy theories, or inspire Izuru’s rage? He felt like they were starting to get into his head, Renji needed a third party to bounce theories off of. 

He could talk to Rukia, Renji supposed. She was the smartest person that Renji knew, but she wasn’t the best at handling bad news. Like Izuru and Shuuhei, she would assume the worst. She would urge Renji to be cautious, as if that was something he could afford. 

Ikkaku was someone who could understand Renji’s perspective. They were both warriors first and foremost, ones who had carved their positions in the Gotei with their swords instead of their grace. For them, it was more important to appear strong than to be careful. They could not afford to be hurt by simple words. 

“Well, obviously it’s a problem.” Renji said stubbornly. “I guess I’m figuring out how seriously to take this. If I could find the person who was doing all this, I could just track them down and settle things myself. But what can I do as long as they’re sneaking around?” 

Ikkaku scratched his chin, and bounced the sheath of his sword against his shoulder. Most shinigami did not carry around their zanpakuto during peacetime, but Ikkaku was not most shinigami. 

“And you got no clues to work off of?” 

“Kitchen knife, mask, letter.” Renji counted out the clues each on three fingers. “It’s somebody who knows I’m from Inuzuri, soooo… everyone in Seireitei. Though I’m sure Shuuhei and Izuru have their own theories about who it could be.” 

“But they don’t know about the letter yet, yeah?”

“No. Should I tell them?”

“I think you have to.” Ikkaku shrugged his broad shoulders. At least he didn’t seem to be too grave like Izuru and Shuuhei, or rattled like Byakuya and Rikichi. In fact, Renji would think he was underreacting, if he didn’t know his former mentor better. Ikkaku always looked at problems like a strategy game, refusing to take shit seriously. “You have no leads, and three heads are better than one. You always try to act like a tough guy in the face of problems you can’t solve, but it’s not gonna work this time.”

“Oh?” Renji folded his arms and raised his eyebrow. He had expected Ikkaku to take his side about giving it the cold shoulder. “Why not?” 

“Because this isn’t a fight. If it was a fight, you could win.” Ikkaku said. “This is a trap. They just want t’ goad you into a fight so you’ll get cocky and fuck something up.” 

“That’s what I’m trying not to do. I wanna know what you think I should do.” 

Ikkaku crossed his legs and considered this. “I say let your boys do their thing, and don’t get in their way. Even if you’re gonna apply for the new captain’s position after all, you can afford to lay low for a few days. Be on your best behavior.”

If Ikkaku noticed the glare Renji shot him, he didn’t react at all. A hot prickle stabbed under Renji’s skin. “Best behavior?” You think I’m a dog too or something? “Yeah, well. In that case, I’m gonna head home. Izuru has me on a curfew, since apparently I’m no good anywhere else.” 

Ikkaku made a noise of disapproval as he watched Renji stand and stretch his arms up towards the sky. “You asked for my opinion, don’t get all pissy that I give it to ya’.” 

It was a long walk to the open field where the house was. A long walk out of the vast network of buildings and streets that surrounded the Gotei, until the structures of brick faded away. Renji had an unfortunately long time to ruminate over the past two days. 

Ikkaku was right. He always was. So were Shuuhei and Izuru. One incident was annoying, but the letter had been delivered to Renji’s office. If it happened one more time, it would officially be a pattern.

They had taunted him. Insulted him. Now, this person had embarrassed him by making him look weak in his own division. 

Stepping up onto the porch of his home, Renji took in a calm breath before the door before sliding it open. As promised, Izuru was sitting with a book open on his lap. At the sound of the sliding door, he looked up to Renji’s face with attentive eyes. There was relief in his voice.

“Welcome home. How was your day?” 

Renji swallowed, and made himself smile again. “Fine.”

They were definitely watching him. 

If it were anybody else Renji would chalk those kinds of feelings up to paranoia. And maybe he would be an asshole for it. But Renji had enough problems in his real life that it wasn’t necessary for him to imagine additional dangers. Shuuhei was the one always keeping an eye over his shoulder, always seeing the strings connecting secret plots by Aizen, or Ywach, or the Soul King or whatever. Renji didn’t have the imagination for all that big picture stuff.

But he could see them. Glimpses of them, but there and real. Glances of the shadowy figures, dressed like the Stealth Force to blend into the evening shadows. Of the white masks with their blooming petals for lips. He saw snatches of them in corners, there for just a minute before fading like smoke. 

More than that, he felt them. Renji felt that same, yawning emptiness that he felt from the first white mask. A poisonous, ravenous nothing that wanted to pull anyone and anything into it. 

They were persistent, he would give them that. 

_DAMN DOG._

They followed him when they thought he wasn’t looking, and sometimes when it was obvious that he was. Always in the evening, when there was darkness to slink back into. They were too afraid to hunt him during the day. 

When Renji was training by himself. When he was taking a smoke break on the division roof. Even inside the offices, there was a flash of porcelain-white that reflected off the windowpane. 

But they did not follow him home. He would not allow that. It was one thing if these freaks wanted to harass Renji in the Gotei, where he was a public figure and had his reputation to shield him. His house was a different story-- it was private, it was sacred. Renji would go home early or take weird, winding roads back to the house in order to shake off any followers that might threaten the sanctum that he shared with Izuru and Shuuhei. 

This continued for two weeks. People were starting to notice something was off. 

Rukia was the first one to see them. They were walking her home to the Kuchiki estate, where Renji knew there would be lots of lights and witnesses. Rukia’s eyes went wide as dinner plates, she reached up and gripped Renji’s sleeve. Her fist was a tight ball of steel, nails scratching Renji’s arm through the fabric. 

“What was that?” Rukia’s voice wavered high and afraid for just a second, before she snapped into her Lieutenant instincts. A layer of coldness fell over her. “Renji, I saw something. Someone.”

Renji wished that he could be scared and serious with her, instead of feeling a flood of relief. He wasn’t paranoid. He wasn’t imagining them. “You saw them?”

“‘Them?’” Rukia echoed, but Renji turned and grabbed her shoulders. He squeezed her, tight and safe and secure. 

“You didn’t see them, okay? You didn’t see anything!”

Rukia put her hands over Renji’s hand. Her face was carved with fear, or concern. Pity? Was it pity in her eyes? Renji felt he wasn’t sure. He felt something wither inside of him.

This had to stop. Something had to happen. What the hell did Renji think he was doing, anyways? Sitting around in fear-- helpless to save himself. And why? The white masks hadn’t done anything to him. They stared. They hid. They ran. 

Renji did not wait for someone to rescue him. He solved his problems by himself. 

They would regret making a fool of him.

If this day were to ever come, Renji thought it was going to be difficult. He thought it would be a struggle like everything else was, and Renji would feel unworthy like he always did, standing in front of Byakuya and struggling to think of reasons he should be treated special. 

“I want to apply for one of the captain’s positions.” 

Byakuya was known for his unflinching gaze. Renji had been under it many times before, and still had moments where he resisted the urge to grovel. Now, the captain seemed eager to look everywhere except Renji’s face. 

The dark-haired captain spoke slowly, measuring his words. “I see. Your honesty is… bracing, as usual. But you understand that it isn’t so simple. You require a letter of recommendation from a current captain before you can even be considered.” 

“Yes.” Renji’s voice was brittle. 

“I see.” Byakuya repeated himself, then seemed to recover his dignity. His face snapped back to that stony expression Renji was used to seeing, voice sharp and severe. “Now may not be the right time. We have yet to hear back from internal affairs--”

“I’m not concerned about that.” Renji set his jaw. “I’m looking to the future.” 

If Renji had not once challenged this man to an all-out duel, this would be the most arrogant thing he had done to Byakuya yet. Shuuhei had mentioned asking Byakuya to recommend him to Central 46, but probably intended for more subtlety. Outright telling Byakuya what he wanted implied a lack of faith in the captain’s judgement. As if Renji thought he could tell Byakuya what to do. 

“And this is the future you want, then?” Byakuya followed up decisively. “Give me a few days to think it over.” 

Renji stomped down on a scowl. He didn’t have time for this. “Can I ask why, Captain?” 

“I simply had no intention of making any recommendations to Central 46 at this time.”

The air went very cold. Renji digested those words the way he might try to digest a heavy rock in his stomach. Like his body was twisting around it, trying to break down the weight into something he could cope with. 

Byakuya never intended to recommend him. 

“You don’t think they’ll choose me. You don’t think I can do it, do you?”

“That is not what I said. Do not put words in my mouth.” Byakuya faced Renji fully now, anger rising to his pale face. “I felt no urge to present any candidates at all. We are in peace-time, there isn't an immediate need to fill the captain vacancies.” 

“That’s not the point!” Renji squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. He should have known it wouldn’t be easy. This served him right, for having high expectations. He should have known. 

“Renji, calm down.” 

“You know, I don’t need to prove anything to you!” The words spilled out of Renji’s mouth before he could stop them, a waterfall of frustration and anxiety that went tumbling from his teeth. He tasted that bitter water skating over his tongues, crashing against the sharp cliff of his fangs. “I’m always trying-- I’m always proving something to you, but I don’t need you! There are plenty of captains who’ll recognize my strength.” 

“You are out of line, Lieutenant.” 

Byakuya’s voice was crisp, commanding. Like fractured glass, about to explode. When Renji first started working for him, that voice would make his heart leap in his throat. It made him feel like he was going to die. 

Renji turned his back, focused his eyes on the door and the freedom of outside. “I gotta go.” 

He closed the door behind him, to shut any further arguments from Byakuya. And when Renji turned to look down the hallway, he could see dozens of wide, fearful eyes of his Sixth Division officers staring from around the corners of the Sixth Squad’s offices. Staring. Watching. Always, people were watching him. Renji hadn’t even realized he had raised his voice at Byakuya Kuchiki until he felt his own throat tight and dry inside his neck. 

“What are you looking at?” Renji barked, daring any of his subordinates to backtalk him. But they would never. Not to his face. “Get back to work!” 

What had Renji expected? To be taken seriously?

He was so, so stupid. Stupid enough to trick himself into thinking he was a big deal just because of the Winter War, and because he had impressive friends. That people actually respected him now. Believed in him. He had enough evidence already that it wasn’t the case.

It was denial, plain and simple. Renji was just as much the Gotei’s obedient lap dog now as he had ever been, just with a few more fancy baubles on his collar. 

Behave. Be patient. Take all the pain, all the rage and humiliation with a smile, and don’t you dare complain that things are unfair because you know better by now. They’re watching you. Always waiting for you to fuck everything up.

_DAMNED DOG. DAMNED DOG. DAMNED DOG. DAMNED DOG. DAMNED DOG._

Renji didn’t need them. Didn’t need Byakuya to patronize him. Didn’t need Rukia or Ichigo to hold his hands to take him on their next stupid adventure to get his ass kicked half to death, or any of his know-it-all friends to talk down to him. He didn’t even need his boyfriends to fret over him like Renji was a child. Wasn’t Renji the most powerful of the lieutenants? Wasn’t his strength great enough to rival even Aizen’s? Ichigo wouldn’t be afraid of a few stalkers in festival masks. He could handle things on his own. 

After what felt like an eternity of rolling these thoughts around in his head, Renji realized his feet had been on autopilot. They took him to the edge of the Sixth Division, where the courtyards were groomed with even grass and elegant, long-limbed trees, towards the direction of the training grounds. Whenever Renji hit his patience threshold, he always came here to beat the shit out of something until the anger melted out of his exhausted body. 

It was almost evening. The Sun was hanging low, and throwing long shadows far across the ground like tiger stripes. Even so, there was plenty of light for Renji to tell that his spot of tranquility had been disturbed.

“Good evening, Lieutenant.” Toyotomi smiled from where he sat, a picnic blanket spread out under the shade of a crooked-armed tree. His zanpakuto was sitting on the blanket next him, put away to the side in favor of the box on his lap. 

“Sup,” Renji answered dryly. He wasn’t feeling in the mood to be courteous and endure the old man’s quaint babbling, so this was about the only appropriate greeting that he could muster. He hadn’t realized it was evening, either. 

“That’s quite a fight you got into with the Captain,” Gensei said sympathetically. “I’m afraid it’s all the buzz. You know how the Sixth Division is-- they’re the most loyal pack you’ll find, but they can be the most vicious gossips.” 

“It wasn’t a fight,” Renji replied, liking less and less of what he heard. He didn’t need another lecture. “Just a disagreement.”

The officer raised his hand in a pacifying gesture. “I apologize. Look here, I was just taking a break from training. Won’t you join me for a spell?”

Gensei’s rough hands opened the box, and the smell of fried meat and dough wafted through the air invitingly. Three pork buns were packed inside, and Renji watched as his subordinate set them beside him, next to an opening on the blanket. 

Renji’s breath was already beginning to calm from the violent seething it had been before. He had been hoping to train, to reassure himself of the raw power that lived inside his immense reiatsu. That he was strong, and everyone knew it.

He still could, if only he hadn’t left Zabimaru back in his office. It was still resting in its special holder, next to Senbonzakura. Not like Renji could very well go back and get it now. 

What else was there beside that? Renji could go back to an empty house, and either wait for Izuru and Shuuhei or construct a lie to greet them with. He could wait for the next set of eyes digging into his back. Prepare himself for a life of being haunted by white-faced ghosts.

Well, what could it hurt? As long as he was cautious and kept his eyes peeled. And it would be better with Gensei, whose company might ward away the stalkers. “Alright.”

The effort that Renji put into trying to explain his side of the story was definitely not equivalent to the story that Gensei got out of it. It was fine, though, because he was relieved for an opportunity to complain about Byakuya, and his friends, and Soul Society in general.

(Obviously he omitted certain key details. The stalkers. The letter. The two men that he loved most in the world, and Renji’s decision to omit certain key details from them in turn.)

((It was nice to have someone listen to him, for once. To care about what he said. Renji felt nostalgic for something he didn’t know he had been missing.))

“I understand your frustrations with Captain Kuchiki. He means well, I’m sure, but in his desire to do what is best in the future he can neglect what is necessary in the present.” Gensei ran the palm of his hand over his stubble. 

“Yeah, for real.” Renji scowled through a mouth full of bun. Byakuya had changed, as they all had, since the Ryoka Invasion. But maybe not enough. Maybe not as much as the rest of them had.

The older man smiled, eyes wistful as he looked into the distant tree branches now budding green leaves. “I’m not surprised he turned out this way. I’ve known the Captain since he was just a sprout, back when I served under his grandfather, Captain Kuchiki Ginrei. Now there was a man who was so serious, he made Byakuya look like a slacker.”

Renji tried to reel his memory back, flipping through images in the catalogue of his brain. Within it, he briefly remembered a grey-haired man, face dry and stern with age like an aged fruit. He had been there, with Byakuya, on the day that Rukia was adopted. That was more than forty years ago. 

“I’m a little glad I didn’t know him,” Renji admitted. He did not look like a kind man. 

“Oh, his reign as captain was long before your time.” Gensei nodded. “Believe me, I have been in the Sixth Division since you were just a sprout, yourself. Old men like me are always doomed to watch children become soldiers.”

For the first time in a while, Renji remembered to really think about Ichigo and the rest of his human friends in Karakura. He met them when they were fifteen, but they had to be almost in their 20’s by now. He hadn’t even thought about how he’d tell them if he actually got promoted to captain. 

There was barely enough time to arrange for trips to the human world; as a captain he would be bound even more to Soul Society. He’d be on an even shorter leash than before. 

Gensei misread his silence. “That is a long time, isn’t it? I can say I’ve given my life to the Sixth Division.” He sighed. It was a heavy, burdened breeze from deep in his lungs. Like a stone rolling down the cliff of a mountain. “It’s funny, isn’t it? In all the time you’ve been here, I don’t think I’ve had the honor of sparring with you.” 

“Really? That seems hard to believe…” Renji crumpled up the wrapper of his pork bun and stuffed it into his pocket. “We must have fought at some point, right?” 

“I’m afraid the opportunity has never come up. My shikai is unwieldy in combat, so I avoid fighting. I prefer to support from the sidelines,” Gensei admitted. His hand reached over to pick up the sword that still rested at his side.

Renji watched him lift the sword onto his lap. The sheath was plain black, matching the cloth wrapping around the hilt. Without color, the zanpakuto rather resembled one of the nameless asuchi that all shinigami-in-training received, rather than a zanpakuto with its own identity and soul. 

The only distinguishing feature was the hilt of the sword-- oval. Not rectangular like Zabimaru or most other zanpakuto. Renji could just barely see the raised shapes of small triangles around the edge, pointing inwards at the hand of the one who wielded it. It resembled, Renji realized, an open mouth. 

“What do you say, Lieutenant? If you really are determined to get promoted out of the squad, then we must have just one match. To say that we did.” 

Renji found it hard to take his eyes off that sword. Off the mouth, with its teeth bared and ready to bite down. He had the ridiculous and undeniably uneasy sense that if he went anywhere near that blade, it would reach out and snatch him. 

“I left Zabimaru back in the office,” Renji said, not sure why it sounded more like an excuse than the truth. “Sorry, but I think going back for it now would be, uh, awkward to say the least.” 

“Too true. Well, then. Perhaps then I will go through some drills, and you can observe me and provide some feedback. I admit, I crave your expertise.”

Gensei unsheathed his sword in one swift motion, the steel catching the faint light at once and turning a blistering white. Renji flinched back instinctively-- the first thing you learned about handling a weapon is that they weren’t toys, and the only thing more dangerous than a direct attack was a careless hand. To bare your sword without warning was something an untrained bandit did, aggressive and disrespectful and certainly taboo in polite company. 

“... maybe not today.” This was taking kind of a strange turn. Renji started to stand up, not too quickly, but assertively enough, and rolled a lie off his tongue. “I told Rikichi that I would train him today. Let’s have that match first thing tomorrow morning.”

Gensei’s calm expression didn’t change, as warm and easy as freshly brewed tea. His sword remained unchanged as well, held in his hand with the blade facing the sky. 

“The training grounds will be quite busy in the morning.”

“Yeah, I should hope so.” Renji grumbled as he walked away from his subordinate. He raised his voice again and waved behind him. “See you tomorrow, Toyotomi. Why don’t you take it easy for a few days, relieve some stress.” 

“Oh, I’m afraid that’s not possible. We have some busy days ahead of us, Lieutenant.” Another heavy sigh. “Though, really, I would think you of all people would know better than to turn your back on an armed man. Some zanpakuto abilities can take effect unexpectedly.”

What happened next occured all at once. In simple words, it felt to Renji as if he were stepping out of a patch of warm sunshine into a cold shadow. Or like he had dropped one hundred feet into dark, freezing water. It felt as if something had punctured him, right in the back of his brain, and all the light and warmth was leaking out and spilling to the ground. 

Renji’s stomach rolled, his insides churning against the barrier of his body. His skin felt as brittle and delicate as old paper. His teeth hurt inside his head. 

“What did you do?” 

Renji’s voice was not angry. Not at first. He was too taken with shock, body and brain trying to make sense of what had happened. Nothing physical had happened, he was sure. No stab, no wound, no blood. But definitely something was different. Something inside.

Then, the anger caught up. 

“What did you _do_?”

A hand covered his mouth, small and gloved in black. Renji had a brief second of consciousness remaining to bet good hypothetical money that the owner of that hand stood behind him, breathing down his neck through a white mask. 


	2. Trace

It had been a while since Izuru felt like he was waiting for something bad to happen. 

With Gin around, that was all he did. He waited to step on a tack that had been placed in his shoe, waited for his crimes of treason to be discovered. Waited for the final straw to break. Gin had taken everything but his life, Izuru knew that was the next thing he would devour. 

Then, a horrible, unlikely accident happened; Izuru survived. The floods passed, the fires burned out. He was still here, standing among the wreckage. Years later and one extensive abdominal surgery later, Izuru remained. 

He did not cope well with peacefulness. Everyone moved on too quickly around him; everyone tried to forget. With their fake smiles and their pyrrhic victories, stepping over the battlefield where men and women’s blood was still wet. It made him sick. It made him want to rip their smiling teeth right out of their mouths. 

Hypocrite that Izuru was, he tried to forget like everyone else. To take any draught or pill that would numb out the screaming voices in his head, and the phantom pains in his arm and chest. But he did not forget. 

Renji was different though. Izuru did not know how to explain why. The simplest fact was that Izuru had been in love with Renji since their early days, since they were teenaged students with gangly limbs poking out of their robes. Izuru held onto those feelings, and cited them as another reason that his life was unfair. 

Then another miracle happened-- Renji loved him back.

Things were still the same, mostly, but he was different. Soul Society was as much a wreck as it had ever been, but his life was good. He tried to make it good. He owed it to the people who cared about him. 

Maybe that was why Izuru overreacted. Renji was probably right, a stalker couldn’t hurt one of the most famous heroes in Soul Society. But the thought that somebody would threaten his happiness-- would threaten _Renji_ , Izuru had no regrets about his ire. 

He chewed on it even now, sitting at his desk and pretending to noodle over his next submission to the Communication’s Haiku Corner. The small notepad where Izuru jotted down all his best ideas was open to a page of crossed-out scribbles, collecting nothing but half-hearted attempts. 

Rose hovered and watched him, expression unreadable. If Izuru had to guess from experience, he would say Rose was thinking about how the gloomy atmosphere was suffocating the entire room, and distracting the captain from the only things he really wanted to be doing; playing guitar and ignoring Izuru’s nagging to complete his work. 

“Izuru, dear…” Rose began. He had always been overly familiar, at first it annoyed Izuru greatly. But he was used to it now, his captain’s big fondness and big emotions. “Relax your facial muscles or you will give yourself a headache.”

Izuru put down his pen to rub his temples. “This is my relaxed face.” 

“Your relaxed face and your stressed face look remarkably similar.”

“They sure do.” Izuru stared at the flat, dark surface of his desk. Completing his daily tasks for the Third Division was all clockwork by this point;he had worked in such various states of disrepair that he could fill out forms in his sleep by now. He wanted to be doing something else. Something useful. 

“Captain,” Izuru began. “How do you feel about Soul Society now?” 

Rose’s chair was leaning back at his desk, balancing precariously on the two back legs with his beloved guitar in his lap. Rose would sit every possible way except properly. 

At the question, the visored threw up his eyebrows but his lips remained a thin, grim line. “That is a complicated question, Izuru. It is what it is.” 

Izuru balanced his elbow on his desk and propped up his chin, attentive. He did not need to use words to tell Rose when he was ready to listen. 

A sigh. A pair of long, calloused fingers expertly plucking strings that murmured a bassy tune. Rose could switch in an instant between a disaffected, aloof air and thundering theatrics. Izuru had learned that it took time to pick apart Rose’s real emotions. Betrayal had taught him to keep those things hidden. 

“Let me ask you something that I have been wondering myself for a while now; why is it that the forces protecting Soul Society are so divided?” The golden-haired captain began, “Thirteen divisions all running independent of each other, plus the Kido Corps. And Squad Zero, though they would never compare themselves to peons such as us in the lower divisions. All of it is held under the tenuous grasp of the Captain-Commander and Central 46, both of which follow their own protocol. Why so much separation? Wouldn’t it be easier if we worked together?” 

Izuru tried to imagine what Rose was describing. He had been acting captain of the Third for a time, he knew how insufferably slow it was getting anything done. Especially because there always seemed to be some kind of personal stakes involved. “The squads would never work together for anything less than the threat of total annihilation.” 

“Exactly. And Aizen knew this very well.” Rose’s brows furrowed. The tip of a tongue darted between his lips as he searched for the correct note. It eluded him stubbornly. “He knew how to trick each of us into acting in our own best interests, blinded by our selfishness. In doing so, we ignored the big picture. Soul Society fell on its own sword, so to speak.”

One deep, low note. Then another. A song began to come together.

“Now, you may think ‘but that was in the past! Things are different now’ and yet who is rushing forward to take responsibility for Aizen, or Tousen, or Ichimaru? Who among us is taking the blame for earning the Quincys’ wrath?” 

A haunting melody, like a funeral dirge but so much faster. 

“We are still stubborn, refusing to admit our faults before having our noses rubbed in disasters of our own making.” 

Rose’s voice floated above the music of his guitar. He was not singing, but something about his tone struck Izuru as uncomfortably appropriate for the song he strummed. 

“Let me say this, Izuru; the next war that Soul Society sees will not be an invasion like Ywach. It will be another betrayal. And we will see how much we have learned from our past.”

The music abruptly stopped. Rose’s violet eyes flashed and landed on Izuru’s face, his cold expression immediately thawing into genuine concern. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you…"

Izuru swallowed a dry lump he didn’t realize he had been holding in his throat. He did not know what his expression looked like, but he had a sudden sense it was too drafty in this office. The air around him was too heavy.

“You did not,” he lied, and stood up. “Excuse me. I need some air.”

  
  


He was the first one home. This was routine and not cause for tension in Izuru’s jaw or a twisting feeling in his gut. Evening crept over the sky slowly, dying it a navy blue until the moon crawled out over the hills. 

Izuru sat down and read for a while, though he failed to absorb any words that his eyes scanned over. He knew that in an hour or so, Renji would come home. A little longer, and Shuuhei would join them. Everything would be back where it belonged. 

Time stretched on. Izuru lit some candles and watched wax dribble down and harden in growing puddles. No one came. 

He tried to occupy himself with starting dinner, and succeeded in ruining an entire pot of rice. It was somehow both too dry and too mushy. Izuru tried to scoop it into the trash but missed and dumped it all over the floor because he was keeping one eye on the door. 

A few hours later, Shuuhei got home.

He came in all blustery and excited, with a big book on his hip. “I got a lead.” 

The 9th lieutenant walked through the door, past Izuru, and stared into the empty living room, where he had expected to see a certain red-head waiting. He turned to look in the kitchen, then back at the door. But there was still only Izuru. 

“Where’s Renji?” 

“Not home yet,” Izuru answered and folded his arms. Calmly. He was not going to fall apart yet, that was something the old Izuru might have done. Instead, he cleared his throat. “You have a lead?”

“Oh. Yes.” Shuuhei was also concerned, but he feigned shaking it off. Getting revved up again, he went for the armchair in the living room where he liked to sit when he was working at home, the coffee table in front of him like a low desk. In one hand he opened the book, and in the other he glided his hand through the air like he was framing a future headline. “Narcissus.” 

Despite his dour mood, Izuru could not resist a smirk. “I’ll thank you not to call me names in my own house.” 

Shuuhei skipped right over the usual scathing glare he gave when his brilliance wasn’t being appreciated, flipping through pages. Propped up on his knee, Izuru could just see the title on the cover; _The Adept Authority’s Guide to Common Plants and their Uncommon Uses_. When he reached the appropriate stopping point, he turned the book around for Izuru to see. 

Izuru squinted at the diagram of a yellow flower. A vibrant, soft cylinder of petals, crowned with a halo of lighter petals circling around it. “It is a daffodil.” 

“ _Narcissus poeticus_ ,” Shuuhei said, far too importantly. “A common species of flower often used for ornamentation, they’re also very poisonous. Historically, people tend to mistake the bulbs for leeks and onions and eat them by accident. In some cultures they’re considered to be bad luck, or omens of death.”

Izuru’s blank stare filled the room. He would not bother wasting the breath to ask why he should care.

Shuuhei sighed in annoyance, and tapped the page with his finger. “The flower on the mask. Was a narcissus. It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got so far.”

“Oh.” Izuru couldn’t hide the flat disappointment in his voice. “That’s… a start.” 

At least Shuuhei had something to go off of. It was more than Izuru had done. 

The house fell into uncomfortable silence. Izuru wished Renji were here to barrel through the tension, drown out the quiet with his relentless presence. 

Shuuhei scratched the back of his neck, ran his hand through his hair and then closed the book and set it on the table. “I’ll give it another go tomorrow.” 

He looked tired. He looked tired most days, but especially over the past two weeks. Renji and Shuuhei were not always the best at verbally sharing their feelings with each other, but Izuru was surprised by how in sync the two of them were. When Renji wasn’t feeling well, Shuuhei was usually the first to know. 

Renji had not been feeling very well at all lately. 

Shuuhei’s brown hand lay on the armrest, and Izuru reached to cover it with his own. As always, Shuuhei’s skin was shockingly warm underneath his own cold grasp. His fingers were ripped up, the papercuts indecipherable from the sword scars. 

Izuru lifted Shuuhei’s hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles, Shuuhei watched him cat-like through his long, unruly bangs. “Everything is going to be fine, right?”

Shuuhei blinked. His lashes looked long from this angle, brushing against the top of his cheeks. You almost couldn’t see the scars on his face, the ones that marked the anniversary of the day that the three of them met. “Yeah, of course it is.” 

“And then,” Izuru smiled thinly. “We will kill whoever has been bothering Renji.”

“Yes. We probably will.”

Shuuhei began to make dinner, but it wasn’t long before Renji’s absence began to agitate him. And Izuru loved him-- gods knew Izuru loved him, but Shuuhei’s agitation was extremely agitating. 

“Why do you suppose he’s late?” Shuuhei stirred a pot on the stove. Izuru had resorted to pulling a chair up to the window and keeping his eye on the trail leading up to their house. It was beyond dark now. 

“I don’t know.” 

“He better not have stayed out training again. Or gone drinking with the Eleventh Division. You know how they like to stay out late. Remember last time? Renji didn’t come up until the Sun was up. He had a bunch of takoyaki jammed in his pockets, he smelled like a fish market.”

“I remember.” 

“I told him not to do this anymore. He’s so stubborn. Why does he have to make everything so hard?” 

Izuru ran his hands down his face, wishing for the blissful agonizing silence from earlier. “I don’t know, Shuuhei.”

“Whatever. He can stay out all night and come crawling home drunk in the morning. Who gives a fuck? He’s a grown-up, he can do what he wants.” 

Shuuhei seethed over the hypotheticals and the things that Renji would or wouldn’t dare to do in his imagination, and Izuru smartly resisted the urge to point out that it sounded like Shuuhei was trying to convince himself of something. 

Dinner was finished. Stew sat in a large pot on the table, Shuuhei served himself and Izuru and forced Izuru’s bowl into his hands. A third, empty bowl sat alone, prepared but untouched. 

“Eat,” Shuuhei urged when he noticed Izuru’s portion beginning to go cold. Izuru made himself finish his meal. It tasted bland and rubbery; he should have eaten it while it was still hot. 

Shuuhei didn’t even ask Izuru to clear the table, just went straight to doing the dishes by himself. He needed something to do with his hands when he was nervous. Izuru went back to his position by the window. 

The moon hung heavy in the sky, crowned in an explosion of stars. Everything, even the towering horizon of the Seireitei, looked tiny underneath that blanket of space. 

It was soon time to go to bed. 

Izuru opened the front door. It was chillier than it has been during the day, so he went to get a light cloak to wear over his robes. 

Shuuhei watched him. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m going out to look for Renji.” He pulled the robe over his shoulders before realizing it was several sizes too big for him. It smelled like Renji.

“You know he’ll probably be home any minute now.” 

“That’s too long to wait.” 

Shuuhei was not emotive. His expressions were subtle, slight twitches and half-gestures. The tensing in his jaw of frustration. The narrowing of his eyes in anger. The slight press of a tongue against the inside of his cheek in fear. 

“Wait for me.”

They left the light on and a note inside in case Renji did wander home. Izuru felt the last reach of winter desperately claw at him, sinking into a body that was already colder than most. He clung to Shuuhei’s arm, holding him as a ship to an anchor. 

The Sixth Division was silent. They used the spare key for Renji’s lieutenant’s quarters to find a room coated in a thick layer of dust, utterly abandoned since Renji had moved. 

The Eleventh Division was equally quiet. It was a work night, after all. Each division they walked by, there were no drinking parties or warm lights. No glimpses of fiery red hair, or a sharp, barking laugh that could fill up an entire room like the ocean. 

They walked down the central streets, where there were still lanterns lit and izakayas with doors open. The streets were still humming with people milling about, the late owls and midnight-shifters. But not so many that Renji would not have been able to tower above them, as grand and brilliant as a beacon. 

Izuru felt the weight of what they were not saying sit heavy in his stomach. He knew Shuuhei had to feel it too. It was a race to see who would break first. 

Izuru lost. 

“Shuuhei,” He started cautiously. “The stalker--”

“Do you really think one person could take down Renji without anyone else noticing?” Shuuhei didn’t hesitate with his retort, confirming the suspicion that he had been just thinking the same thing. “Consider Renji’s fighting style, it’s natural that even if he was defeated, he would make a lot of noise and draw attention to himself. We would have noticed something.”

Izuru knew that was correct-- in a fair fight. “What if it was a stealth attack? Some situation where Renji wouldn’t have been able to--”

To defend himself. Izuru felt those words get stuck in his throat, unable to be pushed out into the air where they might become true. 

Shuuhei shook his head, resistant. “I can’t imagine it.”

“Why would someone want to hurt Renji?” Izuru breathed. He watched Shuuhei’s breath become hot puffs of air on the wind. “I thought everyone loved him.” 

“We don’t know he’s hurt.” Shuuhei’s voice became that stubborn stone again. He refused to budge on this. 

Izuru felt some of his anxiety get tainted with anger. Was it so wrong for him to be worried? For him to want his to be safe and sound? Shuuhei was acting like even the mention of a worst case scenario was offensive. He would not allow Izuru to even fathom the idea. 

He wouldn’t allow Izuru to panic, or to spiral into thoughts of despair. 

He would not allow Izuru to lose his hope. 

Izuru kept Shuuhei close to his side. He felt the heat roll off of Shuuhei’s body like a hearth, and together they watched the sun begin to rise.   
  


* * *

“Abarai didn’t come home last night.” 

It felt wrong to say the words out loud. Like Shuuhei was dropping into a bad dream, the reality he knew falling from his fingertips. 

Or maybe he was slightly delirious with exhaustion. His eyes were itchy and red, his nose was running from scouring the Seireitei with Izuru all goddamn night and well into the morning. He felt he was on the brink of death, and Shuuhei had been to that brink more than a few times. 

(Shit. If Renji could see him now, he’d chastise Shuuhei into next week about taking care of himself and then send him straight to bed. Renji acted like he was so devil-may-care, but really he could fret and fuss and mother with the best of them.) 

Whatever Rukia had been expected to hear when the two lieutenants walked in, it clearly wasn’t that. Her eyes widened, her lips deepened in a frown. “What do you mean?” 

“It is what it sounds like,” Izuru said. His voice was strained with tiredness. Shuuhei would have sent him home, if he thought Izuru would have listened at all. “When Abarai-kun didn’t come home last night, we went out looking for him. We haven’t seen him at all since yesterday morning. Do you know where he might be?”

Rukia folded her arms over her chest, Shuuhei could practically see the gears churn in her head. The young woman was probably the one person who knew Renji the best, perhaps even better than the two of them. “And he wasn’t at his--”

“Lieutenant’s quarters. No, we checked.” 

She covered her mouth with her hand, cupping her lips. “I don’t know where else he’d want to go. Is this… perhaps about the person in the mask?”

Shuuhei felt gravity go wobbly and weak. Izuru made a voice of urgency in his throat. “You know about the masked stalker?” 

Rukia shook her head. “I saw a person about a week ago, following us while we were walking back from the Thirteen Division. I told Renji, and he completely freaked out. I wanted to wait to bring it up again until he had calmed down.” 

Shuuhei shared a look with Izuru, and saw the insistence in his big, blue eyes. They needed to use every tool in their arsenal, and Rukia was probably much smarter than the two of them. Renji hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the danger following him, but it was time to put aside concern for pride. 

“We knew someone had been harassing Renji, but we only saw them once. There was no other evidence to go off of.” Izuru admitted. “Unless, perhaps we can get more information from the knife they threw?”

“I think that’s a dead-end.” Shuuhei grit his teeth. “A standard kitchen knife with no traces of reiatsu isn’t going to be much use to us.” 

“We should go and ask around at the Sixth Division. And the other lieutenants. Someone must have seen Renji yesterday.” Rukia said seriously. “Hisagi-san, do you think you could research this like you would a journalist investigation?”

Shuuhei was more than a little taken aback by Rukia’s intensity, how she was leaping right into a real plan. He expected some fretting, some denial, the way he had puttered around with Izuru for hours the previous night making excuses. 

Rukia was giving herself no time to waffle on her emotions. She looked at Shuuhei in a way that was at once both calculating and affirming, measuring his skills. 

“Kira-san and I can go collect statements. We’ll bring back whatever notes we have to you and you can construct a timeline of Renji’s behaviour leading up to his disappearance. That should give us a better idea of what happened.” 

Shuuhei looked to Izuru. “Are you good with this?”

The blond shrugged. “I think it is our only solid idea

“Alright.” Shuuhei nodded. He knew that in doing this, he was handing the reins over to Rukia, and he regretted that a little bit. He wanted to be the one to find Renji.

No. He didn’t want to find Renji, he wanted Renji to walk through that door all on his own. Stumble through an apology for worrying them. For this to have never been an issue in the first place.   
  
  


* * *

Deep in his heart, Izuru kept holding on to hope that this was just a misunderstanding. Maybe that was why he hesitated to tell people that Renji had been missing for two days now. 

Every few hours he imagined Renji coming through the door, bewildered but otherwise completely fine, flummoxed why everyone was making a big, noisy fuss. 

It was easier that way, to hold onto that promise of instant relief. 

But when his resolve faltered, to his surprise Rukia was the one to pick Izuru back up. There was a certainty to her, there was steel and cement in her will. 

He asked her how she could be that way, and Rukia just folded her arms over her chest with a thoughtful grimace. 

“Maybe it’s because I’ve had to disappear before. I think from that experience, I can’t imagine someone would vanish without a trace because they want to. And Renji definitely isn’t the type-- I don’t think he could disappear into the air like that even if he wanted to.”

“He could surprise us.” Izuru didn’t know why he felt the need to defend Renji’s ability to deceive his friends. 

“That’s true. I hope that’s the case, really.” A small smile crossed Rukia’s lips. “That Renji is just sending us on a wild goose chase.”

In a way it was like a game. Izuru and Rukia playing detectives, making up the rules as they went along. Charging ahead with a stubborn, immature determination. Anything to keep his thoughts from spiraling out of his control. 

They started with Renji’s closest friends, the ones who would most reliably know Renji’s behaviors. Ikkaku and Yumichika hadn’t seen him all week, so that ex’d out the theory that Renji had gotten into a fight-drunk stupor. Renji had lunch with Momo two days before his disappearance, but he didn’t hang around for very long. 

“I offered for him to join me at the Fifth Division for tea afterwards, but he said he was busy.” Momo furrowed her eyebrows and ran her fingers through her bangs. “I remember recommending some calming herbal tea, because he had been really tense lately. Very unlike his usual self.”

That made sense. Everyone could tell that Renji had been getting gradually more and more agitated, though no one put together that it was because he knew he was being followed around. Izuru could kick himself-- he should have done more to protect Renji as soon as he knew something was off, even if it meant forcing Renji to stay home.

Then again, he probably wouldn’t have been able to. Renji came in like a thunderstorm, unstoppable and completely unaware of how much he affected everyone around him. Normally Izuru was pleased to be caught up in Renji’s chaos. 

Izuru suggested that they talk to Rangiku. Not because he truly believed that she would know Renji’s whereabouts better than he would, but because he was beginning to feel more and more desolate. He needed to talk to someone who would ground him. 

“And you have no idea where he is now, huh?” Rangiku smiled. “I’ve had that problem before. Try bringing a can of his food outside and maybe he’ll sniff it out and come home. Then when he’s back, you can tie a bell around his neck so he can’t run off again.” 

She saw Izuru and Rukia’s dour faces, and the chipper expression melted off her lips a little.

“Oh, come on. It was only a joke. I’m sure he’s fine.”

Izuru did not like puzzles. He didn’t even like mysteries. The kind of writing and art he liked was open-ended, with endless ways to interpret them and come to your own conclusion. This problem only had two solutions; find Renji or don’t.

“Well, let’s see. You’ve checked all of Renji’s usual places in the Seireitei, but what about Karakura Town?” Rangiku said calmly, looking between the two other shinigami to see if something lightened on their faces. “He goes to the World of the Living more frequently than most shinigami, so it wouldn’t be unexpected for him to go unannounced for a quick visit. Then if something happened to keep him there longer than he planned, he wouldn’t have an easy time getting back in touch with Soul Society.” 

Izuru exhaled. That… made sense, he guessed. It was a theory and it held water, which was the best they had to go off of so far. “Do you think that’s what happened?” 

Rukia’s eyes dragged down to the floor when she was deep in thought. “He would have needed permission from the Transportation Office to open the Senkaimon. That should be easy to check.”

“You’ve talked to your brother already, yeah?” Rangiku cocked her head curiously. “As his captain, isn’t finding Renji kind of his responsibility?”

Rukia clicked her tongue, and unease settled comfortably back in Izuru’s stomach. Truthfully, he knew that Byakuya should have been the first person they spoke to. But he had hoped very much that Renji’s friends would provide more helpful clues before taking their investigation to a captain and making it officially Gotei business. He had an inkling Rukia was thinking the same.

“Not yet. He’s next on the list.” She turned to look at Izuru. “Why don’t you check out the Senkaimon records, and I’ll go talk to Nii-sama. Afterwards, we can meet back with Hisagi-san and talk about what we have so far.” 

“I… don’t mind going to speak with Captain Kuchiki with you first.” Izuru lied. He very much minded. But he didn’t want to spit up now, and miss even a precious morsel of information that might be crucial. 

Rangiku sighed loudly and made a great show of shrugging her shoulders. “Alright, I’m invested now. Somebody has got to find Renji and give him a good scolding for getting you guys worked up, so I’ll check out the Transportation Office for you and tell you what they say.” 

“That’d be a big help.” Rukia sighed with relief. A sneaking suspicion crept up on Izuru that Rukia did not want to interrogate her brother alone, either. Not that Izuru thought his presence would be very helpful.

He never had the best track record with captains.

  
  


The truth was that Izuru never liked the Sixth Division much. He thought that eventually he would warm up to it by sheer law of Renji Proximity, but would have to admit he never cared to correct his predisposition. 

The Third Division had its own problems. Its halls were dark and gloomy, with a persistent draft crawling through the long windows. Rose tried to bring some cheeriness by installing flower boxes filled with bright yellow marigolds, but they grew a little too well. Now they overflowed the gardens and the courtyards, crawling out of the soil with their maned heads like piles and piles of funeral flowers. 

So yes, the 3rd wasn’t for everyone. But at least it had character. It was a division that was uncompromising in its personality and values. And the officers who thrived there, the artists and the outsiders, were people that Izuru trusted to defend the honor of the division he had spent years toiling for. 

Izuru and Rukia approached the Sixth Division offices, with its austere, colorless walls and artlessly ornate detailing. Through the trimmed lawns with the cobblestone pathways that were swept from dust daily, groomed gardens of exotic and rare flowers on display. 

It all just read as so… empty to Izuru. Dignified to the point of facade. A gilded frame around a blank portrait. Izuru didn’t understand how Renji could come here every day and not feel like he was suffocating. 

The hallways were very quiet. Izuru wondered what everyone was up to. Though the captain was the leader and figurehead of the division, lieutenants managed the day-to-day functions of the squad. Renji had only been gone for two days, but his unannounced absence must still be having a profound effect on his subordinates. 

Izuru was more than happy to let Rukia lead the way to the head office, watching the back of her head and her confident shoulders. He would just let her do the talking, and try to look as invisible as possible. 

As they drew closer, the closed door of the office slid open and quickly was sealed again. A short young man with arms full of folders appeared, and his presence jarred Izuru as the first person they had seen since entering this building. 

Oh, he knew this guy! The name escaped Izuru for a moment, but he recognized Renji’s little fanboy with the braid and the eyebrow. Rikichi looked up at their approach and gave some approximation of a pained smile 

“Woah, hey! Rukia-san, Lieutenant Kira! Um, how’s it going?” Rikichi’s eyes went over their heads. Izuru thought he might have been hoping they had brought Renji with them. “The captain is a little, uh, busy right now. Can I help you guys out at all?”

“What is he busy with?” Rukia asked conversationally, hands folded in front of her. It probably was not a rare occurrence for Byakuya to lock out visitors, yet make special exceptions for his sister. Rukia was likely to spend as much time here as Renji did.

“Oh, y’know. Just catching up on… paperwork.” Rikichi finished weakly, holding up the stack in his own hands. Izuru rather suspected it was all addressed to one Lieutenant Abarai. 

Izuru expected Rukia to press further, fish for more information, but Rikichi had barely stopped speaking before stuttering something and looking at his feet. Anxiety radiated off of him, and he took a second to find his words.

“Did Renji send you guys here?” Rikichi finally said, his voice cracking with hope. “Is he in some kind of trouble?”

Rukia looked at Izuru with confusion in her eyes, which Izuru could only blankly mirror. Of course Rikichi would worry about his idol’s absence, but his behavior seemed a tad dramatic. It had only been two days.

“We haven’t been able to get a hold of Renji lately,” Rukia chose her words carefully. “But it’s important that we talk to my brother as soon as possible. He’s in the office right now, yes?” 

“Yeah, he’s in there. But Rukia, there’s something--”

Rikichi cut his own words off with a squeak as the door behind him abruptly slid open. On the other side of the threshold stood Captain Kuchiki Byakuya, looking as impassive as Izuru had ever seen him. 

His face revealed nothing, and Izuru had a surge of fury light up his unbeating heart. Didn’t Byakuya know he should be at least a little bit concerned? Didn’t he care at all?

“Rukia.” His voice was eerily even. Izuru didn’t hold his breath to be addressed as well. “You are not at your station.” 

“No, I needed to speak with you. Why do you seem surprised? Is everything alright?” 

Byakuya held out his hand, and in his gloved palm he revealed the black, twitching form of an insect. A hell butterfly fluttered its wings and fidgeted its antennae, looking simultaneously alive and mechanical.

“All captains and vice-captains have been summoned to an emergency meeting. I suggest that both of you depart post-haste to represent your divisions.”

Indeed, even as Izuru fixed his eyes on the hell butterfly, he could hear the faint echo of Captain-Commander Kyoraku’s voice issuing a message that would float its way to every division in the Gotei.

_“... Requesting all captains, along with their second-in-command, join me in the First Division meeting hall to discuss a pressing matter…”_

It didn’t sound like an emergency signal to Izuru’s ears. But with Kyoraku, the way things sounded wasn’t always representative of how they really were. 

Was this related to Renji’s disappearance? Had someone found a clue important enough to warrant the full attention of the Gotei? 

Had someone found a body?

“Rikichi, finish delivering those to Renji’s mailbox and return to your usual duties.”

Byakuya breezed right past the two of them without another word, leaving Izuru’s mind reeling through every worst case scenario. He felt himself flash back to-- when was it? Five years ago, only? It felt like a lifetime ago, that Izuru had stood over Renji’s unconscious body and heard Byakuya condemn his lieutenant to jail. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Rukia thought she had disguised her nerves well up to this point. It was easy to act brave in front of Izuru, fill herself with false bravado for him. She was much less sure while standing in a hall full of captains, absolutely dwarfed standing next to Captain Zaraki. 

Lieutenants were usually forbidden from attending the highly secretive captain’s meetings. Izuru, as well as Shuuhei, Rangiku and the rest of the vice-captains would be outside the meeting room doors, receiving a briefer version of the going-ons from Nanao. 

However, exceptions can be and were made. Rukia had been in this room a handful of times, though never representing the Thirteenth as acting-captain like she did now. 

A weight of mourning pressed against Rukia’s stomach. She already missed Captain Ukitake dearly. It wasn’t fair. She already knew that nobody could ever replace him as their leader, why rub it in her face by making her stand in his shoes? 

Ukitake was one of the smartest men Rukia had ever met, if he were here right now she could talk to him about Renji and he would have figured this whole thing out by now. If Kaien were here, he would have rallied everyone into a search party and scoured Soul Society. 

If Renji were here, they wouldn’t be in this mess.

But no, the difference is that this time they’d find Renji. This time, she would be able to save someone. 

All captains (plus Rukia, Isane and Iba, the three uncomfortable acting-captains) took their place. Rukia could just barely see the outline of Byakuya standing stiffly several rows down from her. At last, Kyoraku entered the room and took his position at the front of the hall. The meeting was ready to commence. 

“So,” The Captain-Commander began smoothly. He smiled and scratched the stubble on his chin. Kyoraku eternally looked like he just woken up. He always had, even before the Blood War, though it was less of a quaint character quirk now that he led the entire Gotei. Now, it was like he was wearing a glass mask, trying to keep up a facade everyone had already seen through. “Thanks for coming on such short notice, everybody. I’d like to keep this quick, but the matter at hand was important enough that I wanted to talk it out as a group.” 

Rukia heard Captain Muguruma snort. Things simply didn’t get solved by ‘talking it out’ in captains’ meetings, it always devolved into petty arguments and backhanded remarks. 

The sting was especially strong for the captain of the Ninth, who had received a lot of ‘talking it out’ from Kyoraku lately in the form of being told how to run the newspaper. 

But Kyoraku acted as if he hadn’t heard anything. He raised his hand to one side of the room, gesturing to Byakuya. “Captain Kuchiki, would you like to take the floor?” 

Rukia craned her neck to try and get a better view of her brother. Not that she would be able to read anything from his face. He hadn’t mentioned anything to her about an emergency. Unless he was going to announce Renji’s disappearance. 

There were a lot of questions that Rukia had been trying not to think about;

How long did an officer need to be absent before they were considered a missing person?

Did a missing lieutenant even warrant organized action from the Gotei?

At what point, without evidence, was it considered desertion?

“I initially did not want to present this matter to the captains, as it is strictly the Sixth Division’s private business,” Byakuya began. “However, the Captain-Commander recommended that I inform you all, so that you may be aware if similar situations occur in your companies.” 

“We get it, it’s top-secret business! You an’ Kyoraku made that very clear. Now can you get to the point?” Captain Hirako rolled his eyes, and Captain Soi Fon hissed at him in reproach. 

A slight flashing glare from Byakuya, before returning to his icy frown. “Yesterday, it was discovered that the financial reports of the Sixth Division had been tampered with. A sizable quantity of money was stolen from the division funds, and we are currently investigating this as a case of theft.” 

“How _much_ money?” interjected Captain Kurotsuchi.

Byakuya’s lips pursed for a second. It was an incredibly rude question, but no doubt one that everyone was wondering. 

“At least five billion yen is currently confirmed to be missing from the accounts.” Byakuya admitted through grit teeth. 

A pin could have dropped and been the loudest sound in the entire, massive hall. Rukia was sure everyone was doing calculations in their heads, trying to recall how much money was in their division’s accounts and what a five billion sudden expense would mean to them. 

“As I was saying, I’m handling this within my division among my officers as a private investigation. However, I advise you to review your own financial records for any evidence of theft. That is all I wish to say right now.” 

Kyoraku’s brows rose up his lined forehead. “Are you sure there’s nothing else, Captain Kuchiki?”

He said it very pointedly, as if he were leading a child to confess a lie. And Byakuya certainly took notice; Rukia saw her brother slide his gray eyes back to Kyoraku, giving him nothing but stubborn indifference.

“No,” Byakuya answered coldly. “Nothing else I wish to say at this time.”

Rukia felt her feet sinking into the ground, at the same time her head was spinning. She barely heard Kyoraku dismissing the meeting, or the sight of Byakuya’s haori breezing past as he exited the room. 

  
  



	3. Changed

His head hurt. 

A lot. 

Like the kind of headache he hadn’t felt since Rangiku brought that cask of sake to an Eighth Division drinking party. God, what a night. He had been a different man, then. 

Renji was grateful for the darkness. He tried to sink back into that blissful unconsciousness, but sleep receded from him. It washed away like ocean waves slipping off the beach, and left behind the increasingly annoying sense he was forgetting something. 

What time was it? 

(Can you move?)

Didn’t he have work today?

(Are you safe?)

When did he go to bed last night?

(You didn’t. _Think_ for a minute!)

A sudden surge of adrenaline raced through Renji like electricity, igniting his body. He bolted upright, only for a tidal wave of dizziness and pain to rock him from head-to-toe. His stomach lurched, trying to crawl up his dry throat. Renji folded his body inwards to his knees and groaned, waiting for gravity to realign itself. Why did he feel so awful?

Memories began to bubble to the surface. He had been hit on the head. It must have been one hell of a strike, too, to leave Renji still reeling like this. He had been concussed before, usually as a side-effect of a larger impact, but it would explain why his stomach was rolling and his head seemed so foggy. 

He straightened his back and moved to steady his position, but as Renji placed his hand behind himself to sit up, his other arm followed and the weight caused him to teeter off-balance and fall gracelessly on his side. 

There was a sound of metal rattling and scraping against itself. A cold weight dragging him down. Renji looked down at his hands and saw black, iron manacles clasped around both his wrists. They were connected by a short chain, only about a foot long. The links clinked and screeched against each other when he turned his wrists over, gripping him like cold tendrils.

Alright. Okay. One problem at a time, here. Looking over the cuffs, Renji didn’t sense any kido spells or anything. It didn’t even look like a particularly strong chain. Renji could break free with hardly a pulse of his reiatsu. 

He willed his aching head to concentrate, reaching inwards for the fountain of spiritual energy that Renji had spent years cultivating inside his soul. Any minute now, that raw power would bubble forth and rip apart the chains like they were made of paper. 

…

Any minute now.

…

Any... minute… 

Impatience birthed confusion. Confusion gave way to frustration. Frustration boiled into rage. Renji grit his teeth and tried to yank his arms apart, but the chain stubbornly refused to break. Just as his reiatsu refused to surface and bend to his will. 

He felt bad. 

Not just ‘bad’ as in the head injury. There was something else, something far more alien than the simple, mundane sensation of pain. He was familiar with what pain felt like.

The last time Renji had felt this way, he had been on the brink of death. Smashed into rubble of the Seireitei during the Wandereich invasion. It felt like somebody had rung him out like a towel, squeezed every ounce of strength from him.

Panic began to claw at his chest. Renji leaned on his side and placed his hands underneath him for balance, spread apart as much as the chain would allow. 

Calm down. Don’t freak out. You can handle this. Renji made his breathing slow down, and tried to get his bearings. 

First thing that he noticed, he was not sitting on the ground. Okay. That was something. Renji realized he had been lying down on a palette woven together with reeds and straw, a simple sheet draped over it. It was a modest bed, there was even a quilt and a small pillow to go with it. 

Looking up, Renji realized the room that he was in was almost completely dark. So dark, he thought it must have been the middle of the night. Then he realized there were no windows at all-- the only light came from a cheap paper lantern sitting on a wooden crate for a table.

The floor was plain cobblestone, and the walls were unpainted, unfinished wood, only furthering Renji’s confusion. What kind of house was this supposed to be? 

When Renji noticed he wasn’t alone, he honestly almost yelped in surprise. The figure had been so still in the darkness, he had blended in entirely with the shadows. It was a tall man, with dark hair and pallid skin. He was wearing a shinigami shihakusho.

“Hey,” Renji barked, using his best ‘listen to me, I’m an important lieutenant’ voice. 

The man had been leaning against the wall casually, holding a small book that he was reading by the meager candlelight. He had a wiry build and a square jaw, as well as black, rectangular glasses he wore over a painfully disinterested expression. His eyes looked somewhat glassy as he looked over to Renji, face lined with irritation. 

Renji took the time to be angry that _apparently_ guarding his unconscious body was such a boring task that it warranted some light reading. 

“So,” Renji adjusted his posture, throwing one arm over his propped up knee. (The chain rattled as he did so. That was going to get annoying. These needed to be off _now)_. He kept his tone casual. “Don’t suppose you feel like telling me where the fuck I am and what the fuck is going on, do you?” 

The man sighed, and folded the corner of the page he was on. Book held to his side, he walked to the furthest wall of the room and up a narrow staircase. At the top, he pushed his hand against the ceiling. A panel popped open, and a rectangle of light spilled down the stairs. 

Then the man disappeared through that opening. The panel was replaced, and Renji was shut back in darkness. 

This seemed… increasingly bad. Renji stood up, though he uneasily teetered on his feet as he did so. If Renji were able to call upon his spiritual energy, he could have simply willed his injuries to heal faster just like that. Didn’t seem like that was much of an option right now. 

He tottered over to the staircase, and grimaced at what he saw. The stairs were set very close together, making for a precarious climb. Renji began to inch up them, having to be careful not to trip. Nothing could make this situation better like smashing his face in on those steps. 

At the top, Renji pushed his hands up where the man had to make the panel pop off. He braced his foot on a lower stair and pressed up on the ceiling with his shoulder, using as much force as he could without losing balance. But the panel didn’t budge. 

Maybe the mystery man had placed something heavy on top of it? Renji thought he might be able to throw himself against it, see if that made a difference, but he would probably only succeed at tumbling down the stairs and adding to his collection of head-based wounds. 

There were voices above him. Muffled. Distant. Renji pressed his ear up against the panel, and heard footsteps start quiet and quickly get louder and louder. Renji’s heart thrummed in his chest. 

Okay. He needed a plan.

Option 1: Try to fight his way out. 

This seemed the obvious thing to do. Renji could take them by surprise. Wait until someone lifted the panel to come down, and then body slam into them. Even without his powers, Renji was big. He knew how to defend himself. That might be enough to catch them off-guard and make his escape.

Cons: There was no way of knowing how many people were up there. It definitely sounded like more than one. And if they were shinigami, they were probably armed. 

Con 2: Not to harp on the unfortunate fact that Renji had no spiritual energy to spare. He hated to admit it, but he relied a lot on his brute force. Without his reishi, he was defenseless as an ordinary human. 

Option 2: Try to hide. 

There weren’t a lot of options for cover in this creepy basement. The best Renji had was a particularly dark corner between the wall and the staircase where the light of the lantern was reluctant to reach. If Renji wedged himself in that corner, maybe the person who came down those stairs wouldn’t see him immediately. And in that split second of confusion, Renji could rush behind them and run up the stairs to freedom.

Cons: Even in the dark, Renji was 6’2 with fire-red hair. You would have to be blind not to see him. 

Cons pt. 2: Getting ‘up the stairs’ didn’t necessarily mean ‘to freedom’. For all Renji knew, he was a short walk from the frying pan to the fire. 

  
  


Option 3: Try to be patient.

That was the smartest thing. Renji could stay calm, bide his time, try to gather information until he knew what he was up against. How many people were here? What exactly was it that they wanted from him? 

It was also the hardest thing to do. Renji really didn’t want to see whoever was going to come down those stairs. He did not want to know what they wanted. 

He wanted to be at home. He wanted to forget about creepy murder-basements and white-masked stalkers. He wanted Shuuhei to make him breakfast and Izuru to flirt with him like they were newlyweds. Was that so much to ask? 

Izuru and Shuuhei were both much smarter than Renji was. They would lie, and wait. Do the clever thing. 

The footsteps shuffled closer and closer, and Renji reluctantly retreated back down the steps. 

Renji sat down on the palette, still warm from his hours of sleep. The panel lifted up once more and Renji squinted at the return of light, preparing himself for whatever his terrible luck had brought him this time.

Long shadows passed over Renji, accompanied by the heavy creaking of feet on old, wood steps. The panel slid closed again.

“Good evening, Lieutenant. Good to see you finally back among the living!” Gensei was all smiles, even in this horrible place. His warm, familiar tone was infuriating. 

Renji’s hands balled into fists, his teeth ground together. “You’re something else, y’know that? Drop the ‘nice guy’ act already.”

“Please, Abarai-san, I didn’t come here to upset you. You must still be very tired and disoriented, right? Here.” Gensei had a waterskin pouch with him, and he crouched down to hold it out to Renji. “I can’t imagine how parched you are.” 

Renji eyed the waterskin. Yes, of course his mouth felt like he had shoveled fistfuls of dirt into it. Yes, of course he wanted water. No, he would not take anything from this snake of a man. It was probably drugged, for all he knew. Renji tightened his lips together in a scowl, as if the water might leap out of the container and try to crawl in his mouth. 

Gensei sighed, and placed the waterskin on the stone floor. Was it just because Renji was sitting down, or did his captor look different than Renji remembered him? His shoulders were broader, the lines of his face seemed to have smoothed out. He looked stronger. 

“Masao let me know right away that you woke up. He really is a nice young man, once you get through that shell of his! Everyone here is very reliable.” Gensei grunted as he stood up, and brushed dirt off his trousers. “And, of course, you’ve met my little Chiaki.” 

A lean figure loomed behind Gensei. Dressed head-to-toe in black. Wearing a white mask with a yellow flower instead of a mouth. Renji prickled at the sight of it. 

“I’m familiar,” Renji grumbled. “Though I didn’t know that she was your darling niece. You didn’t mention she was in the Stealth Corps either.” 

The figure lifted her hand and slid off the mask. Her face was as soft and round as her uncle’s, but lacking any of that false compassion. Her expression was one of dripping loathing and superiority. Her mere presence, just as Renji recalled on the first night, seemed a gaping, hungry pit that dragged everything into it and destroyed it. 

Gensei chuckled and placed his big hand on her shoulder. Her frown didn’t move. “That’s my girl! We’re so proud of her.”

There was that ‘we’ again. ‘Everyone here’ and such. More and more alarm bells were ringing.

Renji inhaled, then exhaled. He wouldn’t lose his temper. Yet. All he wanted was to punch Gensei’s stupid, lying face in and bust out of here. The idea of being kept in here like a captive animal for a second longer already turned his stomach. 

“Gensei, listen to me.” Renji said slowly. Calmly as he could. “Whatever you think you and your buddies are doing, it’s not going to work out the way you think. Just take these cuffs off and walk away, and I promise you won’t get in even more trouble.” 

“Shut your filthy mouth, mutt.” 

Chiaki’s voice slammed into him like a mallet. Renji expected that she would be the ‘bad cop’ of this scenario, but the severity of her tone took him aback. Her eyes were black, overflowing with a hatred that Renji honestly didn’t know what he had done to earn. 

“What’s your problem, girlie?” Renji couldn’t help himself, he snarled and let his temper flare. Chaiki raised her arm as if to hit him, but Gensei’s hand flew out like a whip to catch it.

“Now, children.” The older man sighed, disappointed. “I see we’re all still a little riled up from earlier. But the goal here is to work together, not tear each other apart.” 

He let go, and Chiaki withdrew her arm and stepped backwards towards the stairs. Renji snorted at how quickly she turned her temper, how clear it was who was in charge here. _Who’s the mutt, now?_

As if nothing had even happened, Gensei launched right back into his jovial tone. “We’ll let you rest for a bit, get nice and comfortable. In a little while I’ll bring you down something to eat, and we can talk about why it is that you’re here with us. And what we need from you before we can let you walk out.” 

“Can you just tell me now and get this whole stupid thing over with?” Renji asked. He had no patience for mind-games, or for Gensei to drag this out. As if he had anything to say that was worth listening to. 

Gensei smiled as he climbed back up the stairs, Chiaki obediently on his heels. “Please try to get some sleep, Lieutenant. You’re terribly reckless with your health sometimes.”

Renji watched the panel shut behind them. Once again he was alone with the lantern light, which was starting to get a little low.

Just to be sure, Renji went back up the stairs and checked the panel for himself. Solid as a rock. Renji sighed, and banged his head up against the ceiling. Just great. 

It wasn’t the worst-case scenario, at least. His friends and boyfriends would notice he was gone. Hell, the whole Gotei would notice soon enough. They’d come looking for him. All Renji had to do was make sure he was more useful alive than dead, and eventually he’d be found. 

Renji went back to the palette. He still had a headache, and frankly was exhausted. Sleep would probably do him some good. But the idea of falling asleep and Gensei or one of his creepy associates coming back in and watching him made his skin crawl. 

Masao and Chiaki. Those were their names, though Gensei said there were more. Renji wouldn’t forget about them when he got out. 

The waterskin pouch lay forgotten on the floor. Hesitantly, Renji scooted to the edge of the palette and picked it up. He uncorked the pouch and sniffed it suspiciously, trying to smell anything unusually sweet that might make him sick. 

It smelled like nothing. Renji took a tiny sip. Just water. Renji put the cap back on and dropped it on the floor. No matter how thirsty he was, he still didn’t want anything that man gave. 

Renji lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. How long had he been here? Izuru and Shuuhei would likely be the first people to notice his absence when he didn’t come home. They would be worried sick, the poor things. Renji could only hope they wouldn’t be too upset until he got back. 

He would just... think of a way out of this.

Yeah, right. Like that had ever been his strong suit.

The underground room was anything but comfortable, but it was quiet. Renji sank into the palette. He didn’t even realize his eyes were closing. 

  
  


The sound of footsteps down the stairs caused Renji’s body to jolt where he lay. Disoriented, flushed, Renji sat up in a daze, surprised that he had even fallen asleep in the first place. Had the water been drugged after all? He could have sworn it tasted normal. 

“How did you sleep?” 

“Hrrg,” Renji answered, rubbing his eyes. He had no idea what time it was. How long had he been asleep? The lantern had gone dark, it’s candle burned down into a puddle of wax.

Gensei was back. No surprise there, he had said earlier he would be. And he brought Masao with him, carrying a new candle and a box of matches. He quickly went to work lighting the wick, and once again Renji could clearly see his two guests. 

Renji wondered if Chiaki was on standby. She seemed young, and inexperienced, and a little too reckless. Perhaps after her outburst, Gensei considered her a hazard. Then again, she had apparently stalked Renji for days with an absurd amount of self-discipline. 

While Masao worked on the lantern, filling the basement with fresh, yellow light, Gensei carried a tray to Renji’s bed and kneeled down on the floor. The smell of food immediately washed over Renji, and he realized he had no idea how long it had been since he had last eaten. Mostly, though, it made him long for home. 

“Miso soup and rice. Nothing impressive, I’m afraid. Never been much of a cook, and I was never good-looking enough to get a wife to take care of me.” Gensei joked and set the tray between Renji and himself. “I’ll tell you a secret, though-- I use my own seasoning for the rice. Family recipe from Chiaki’s mother. Careful, it’s got a bit of a kick!” 

Sure enough, there were two bowls of simple earthenware, accompanied by chopsticks and a cloth napkin. The food even looked decent, hot steam flowing from the soup and rice. 

Why bother cooking nice meals for your prisoner? Gensei had mentioned ‘working together’ earlier, was this his way of trying to win Renji over?

He had no interest. Renji turned his attention back to Gensei. 

“What do you want?”

“Right to the point as always, Lieutenant! Your candor always made you so unique in the Sixth. Now, let’s see. Where to start?” Gensei laughed and turned his eyes up towards the ceiling, suddenly immersed in thought.

“I suppose we can go right from the very beginning. You probably know this already, but a long, long time ago, even before an old geezer like me was born, Soul Society was a very different place. It was a lawless, dangerous plane of existence, infested by both hollows and human cruelty alike. Souls sent from the human world and searching for peace were instead thrown into the jaws of disaster. It was a terrible time.” 

Renji adjusted his position to be more comfortable, as this rambling story seemed like it was going to take a while to slog through.

At the same time, he tried to reel back his memories of history lessons at Shin’o. He had many significant dates and events drilled into his head, but none of them predated the institution of the Gotei. He had simply… assumed it had always been there.

And yeah, logically he knew this wasn’t the case. But it was a matter of questioning something that Renji had always known to be present. Like asking where your own shadow came from. He simply never sat down and thought about it.

“Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekun himself founded the first school for training spiritual powers, which would later become the Shin’o Academy. From this institution, Yamamoto raised a crop of adept, powerful warriors to become the first generation of shinigami in his Gotei Thirteen. He established his military in the middle of Soul Society, and had each of them make a pledge on their honor to uphold the balance of the universe.” Gensei went on. 

“His success… well, it can’t be overstated. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that, the fact that we’re all here is proof enough. A prosperous city blossomed around the Gotei Thirteen, and the shinigami were respected and feared. Those first shinigami then became the forebearers of the Seireitei noble families, breeding their powerful spiritual energy into their descendents.” He scratched his beard. Behind Gensei, Masao stared into the lit lantern. It cast orange reflections on his glasses. “So, you see, the Seireitei is our inheritance. And well, with the war done and over with it’s the perfect time to take back what belongs to us.” 

Anger simmered inside Renji’s stomach. “That’s what all this shit is about? Because I’m from the Rukongai and you guys want me out?

“Oh, nothing that personal!” Gensei beamed, looking relieved. “Our group is more… pragmatic than that. We’re political activists. We just want to show Soul Society that nobles belong in Seireitei, and commoners are better off in Rukongai.” 

“Uh huh.” Renji pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. 

As much as he really, _really_ wanted to, it wouldn’t do any good to scream and rage. If Renji tried to argue how insane this all was, Gensei would dodge any kind of sense and just say something else completely frustrating. Still, Renji’s fists itched with the desire to go through a wall. 

(The saddest thing was Renji knew this might happen one day. Not this exactly, but something like it. He would always be an outsider. Renji just assumed he would get slandered and gossiped to pieces for the rest of his life, not kidnapped by a eugenics cult. Awesome.) 

Renji wanted nothing more than for Gensei to leave this room. No, he wanted Gensei dead where he stood. He wanted that man to sink into the ground. Still, Renji had to know something.

“Did you… do something to me?” Renji motioned vaguely in the air without looking up. “Something to my powers. That’s your zanpakuto’s ability, right?” 

“You make it sound so sinister that way.” 

Renji ran his hands over his face and choked a short laugh. 

“Oh, it’s nothing to be so dramatic about.” Gensei said gently. A hand reached out to lay on Renji’s shoulder, but he flinched away with a slight snarl. This didn’t seem to perturb the man in the slightest. “Just something to smooth the process out, keep you from causing a fuss until afterwards. The effects are only temporary.”

Well, that was good to know at least. Worst case scenario, Renji only had to wait until Gensei’s abilities wore off on him and then breaking out would be as easy as breathing.

Renji glared through narrow, suspicious eyes. “After what?” 

“Well, after you’ve been dishonorably discharged for deserting your station, for starters.” Gensei braced his hands on the floor and did another old-man-grunt as he stood up. At his full height, his body blotted out the yellow light of the lantern. “We’ll get into that more later. I’m sure I don’t want to bore you too much longer. And look, you haven’t even had the chance to touch your food? I’m not much of a host, am I?” 

Another noise of disbelief escaped Renji’s throat. “You’re kidding, right? I’m a lieutenant, and I’m at the height of my career. Why would anyone believe I’d just up and run off without a word to anyone? There’s no benefit to that.”

Gensei stretched his shoulders. Renji wished this basement wasn’t so small. “I agree with you there. But we both know that people would rather see what they _want_ to believe. Please have a restful evening, Abarai-kun.”

“Hold on!” Renji scrambled to stand up himself. It was no easy task to look intimidating while wearing shackles, but Renji felt he did an admirable job of it. “What do you mean by that? I want some real answers!”

His instincts kicked in. The burning flare for survival that had saved Renji’s life many times before, it now overran his brain. It urged him to fight. He itched with the need to struggle. 

Renji reached out and grabbed the front of Gensei’s uniform, holding it in a tight fist. He would shake the answers out of the fucking liar. He would shake all the secrets out of him, until his neck broke and his body was a flailing puppet. 

No sooner did he have that grasp than there was a blur of black, a flash of moving shadows, and an exploding pain in Renji’s stomach. 

It was not the worst pain that Renji had felt in his life. No, he could make a very long list of the worst pain he had been in, including being shredded by thousands of blades and having his organs blown up inside his body, and this wouldn’t even rank in the top 10. 

But it felt… more raw somehow. A fresher kind of agony. Renji doubled over, losing his grip and very nearly losing the contents of his empty stomach. He crumpled onto the pallet, arms curled over his stomach as if that would do anything to stop the muscle spasms currently shooting through his torso. 

Masao stood over him, face as lifeless as a doll. Gensei clicked his tongue in disapproval. “So unnecessary…”

Renji glared upwards and wheezed with incredulity. “Did you seriously just sucker-punch me?” 

Right. No powers. This is what getting hurt with no powers felt like. Renji was as weak as a child. 

Gensei put his hand on Masao’s arm. “Masao, that was very rude to our guest! Come now. I’ll make some tea to settle that stomach. Please don’t take this personally, Abarai-kun.” 

The two men ascended up the staircase and disappeared from sight. Renji wretched, though he hadn’t eaten or drank enough for anything to come back up, so his throat merely contorted in a futile attempt at pushing bile. Small victories. 

Once he had regained control of his body enough to move, Renji turned his attention back to the tray of flavorless foods Gensei had brought down. His stomach ached with hunger pain and muscle pain alike. 

If Renji’s spiritual powers had been suppressed, did that mean he would lose the need for food as well? The thought somehow brought even more dread than the concept of going hungry. Like he would be losing a part of what made him Renji.

He flung the tray to the other side of the basement, watching the small bowls shatter into porcelain shards. 

His friends better find him soon.

* * *

  
  


Renji estimated that he had been in the basement for at least a day, or perhaps two. He knew this because he was starting to seriously get hungry. 

He could measure time by the height of the candle in the lantern, watching carefully as it burned the hours away. However, the lack of sunlight was beginning to interfere with his body’s natural routine. Several times Renji got sleepy and dozed off, yet only managed to stay asleep for half an hour at most.

It was still too long. At one point Renji woke up and the tray he had overturned had been cleaned up, every grain of rice picked out of the floor’s stone creases. Renji couldn’t imagine anyone but Gensei coming down and tidying up while Renji lay there, vulnerable and asleep, and the thought of it made him ill. He was too jittery to sleep after that.

During this period of wakefulness, Renji saw the trapdoor open again. Masao stepped halfway down the stairs, looking half-dead and wraithlike just lingering on the steps. He lifted his hand and waved for Renji to come over. 

Renji’s brain churned. Was this a trap? Though ‘trap’ implied that Renji had any other option. 

Masao sighed heavily, evidently reading the silence as Renji being too stupid to understand. “Follow.” 

Well. Renji was burning with curiosity. How could he resist such an invitation? 

The steps creaked as Renji climbed them. Masao waited at the top of the steps and it occurred to Renji how horribly easy it would be for the dark-haired man to push him down at any point. 

At last, his head came over the top of the trapdoor, popping up from a simple tatami mat flooring. The walls were plain wood, but at least it was furnished and looked up to code, which is more than could be said about the creepy basement, which was falling apart by comparison.

The rice-paper door was open, overlooking a low porch and letting a spring breeze coast through. It was nighttime, and lanterns hung from the roof and glowed against the sapphire-blue darkness. All Renji could see out that door were trees and trees and trees. Nothing but nature, completely undisturbed.

Completely isolated. 

The room looked completely empty.

“Where’s Toyotomi?” 

Renji looked to Masao for an answer, but he did not give one. He simply jutted his chin towards the open door. “Step out.”

Had Gensei been lying about having other members of his organization? Then he realized; the three who Renji had met so far had all been shinigami. If all the members were shinigami as well, they would need to leave at some point to attend work and keep their cover. Masao had gotten the short straw and was stuck guarding him all night. 

The door yawned open. Renji’s freedom was mere feet away. Fresh air. The open sky. A way home. 

“So, what is this?”

“Toilet.” Masao nodded again towards the door. “Around the back. You get four a day. One in the morning, one during the day, one in the evening and one at night. Other than that, you’re on your own.”

“Generous.” Renji snorted. He had been thinking about that, and was admittedly relieved he wouldn’t have to soil the basement/dungeon. He wouldn’t let a mere inkling of gratitude worm it’s way into his thoughts, though. “You’re not worried that I’ll run away?” 

“No.” He answered coolly. “You won’t make it that far.”

The outhouse had thin walls, thank goodness, so Renji had a shallow inkling of privacy. Some cover from Masao, who was stationed just outside, leaning against the wall of the house proper and lighting a cigarette. 

The outhouse reeked, as outdoor toilets often do, and every surface that Renji reluctantly touched was somehow wet. Disgust coiled in Renji’s throat. Was he just being squeamish? No, this was definitely gross. A gap in the ceiling offered in a sliver of the moon hanging above his head. 

Masao was right. If Renji tried to run, he wouldn’t get far without flash-step. Nor would he be able to hide among the trees well, his shackles rattled with every movement. 

Should he try anyway, even though he was doomed to fail? Just to show that he wasn’t going to submit? Just to say that he did? He thought about that sucker-punch from earlier, and Renji’s muscles involuntarily tensed so hard that he ached.

Once Renji had finished his business, he placed his hand against the door and prepared to open it. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to-- he knew already that Masao would march him back inside the house, lock him in the basement. 

This may be the closest that Renji got to freedom. There must be something he could do. 

Renji wrapped the length of the chains around his hands. They were thin, but reasonably strong. More importantly, they were the only things he had. They bit coldly into his skin. 

Okay.

He cracked open the door, praying that it wouldn’t creak. Through the small gap he could see the vague, shadowy shape of his guard and the orange spot of light from his cigarette. His eyes were staring straight into Renji’s, and the message was clear. No sneaking off. 

Renji grimaced and opened the door the rest of the way. “Nice facilities. You really carried that ‘torture chamber’ aesthetic.” 

Masao gestured for Renji to walk back to the front of the house the way that they came. Tough crowd. 

Renji stepped up on the porch and back through the door, though every inch of his being screamed at him not to. Taking a single step towards the yawning mouth of the trapdoor felt like walking closer towards his grave. 

He willed his heart to stop pounding. Can’t lose his edge now. 

Masao turned around to slide the door closed. This was his last chance.

Renji threw himself forwards. Powers or no, his battle instincts were still alive, ignited by the desperation of survival. He threw his hands around either side of Masao’s head and pulled backwards, squeezing the chain of his shackles against the man’s windpipe. 

At once, Masao started thrashing around, clawing at his neck as his own survival instincts fought against the choking metal cutting into his throat. The smell of blood hit Renji’s nose; he kept squeezing the shackles together at the back of Masao’s neck with all his strength. 

It was not enough. Not like this. He was too weak. Too slow. Too close. 

Masao’s hands clamped down on Renji’s forearms, an iron grip to match the iron wrapped around his neck. Those hands yanked Renji forwards and he was easily thrown overhead like a ragdoll before landing flat on his back, the air knocked right out his chest. 

The view of the ceiling spun around Renji’s head, his body aching all over from impact. At least now he could say he tried, for all the good it did him. 

A long shadow slid over Renji’s face. Masao’s flat expression had finally broken, cracked to reveal the dark, hateful snarl of a beast. An angry, red line of puckered skin stood out around his pale neck. 

Masao sneered, his shoulders heaving with the effort of his rage. Renji scowled back as hatefully as he could from the floor, rolling onto his side with effort to spit on his jailer’s feet. _What’re you gonna do about it, punk?_

His face twitched with fury. And then broke into a toothy, thin, hideous smile. 

His hand came down and wrapped around Renji’s ponytail in a tight, vicious claw. Pain exploded in Renji’s scalp and he involuntarily snarled, at the same time he felt the floor slide under him. Masao was dragging him back towards the stairs. 

  
  


_Don’t._

_Don’t send me back there._

_Don’t lock me away after I got a taste of being free!_

Masao pulled him up and the floor disappeared entirely. Then came the stairs. 

The next moment was a blur of dizziness and pain, twirling and tumbling and colliding and disorienting, and then finally he was at the bottom of the stairs in a heap of limbs that didn’t feel right. He desperately wanted to move, but even thinking about it was a struggle. Renji inhaled and exhaled with effort. Even the act of breathing was now hurt. 

He stared upwards, at the trap door and the soft, veiled lantern light filtering through the frame. Masao grinned, wide-eyed and manic. 

“Goodnight.”

The trapdoor slammed shut. Renji’s anger simmered into unconsciousness.

The following hours came in a sequence of splitting pains and delirious dreams. When Renji was awake he desperately wished to be unconscious again just to escape the discomfort, and soon the line between sleep and the real world blurred in a messy collision.

He was awake. He was asleep. He was in the basement. He was at home. He was at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at the ceiling. He was at the top of the stairs, looking down at his crumbled body on the floor. He was at the well.

Renji was standing on the battlefield during the war, his hands covered in dirt and blood. He was in Los Noches, bleeding out in the sand. He was in the Fourth Division, the scent of disinfectant stinging his nose. 

He dreamed that Rukia was gripping his skull and squeezing. That Izuru was sliding his hand into Renji’s side and trying to pull something out. That Shuuhei was splitting his stomach open and peering inside, his eyes full of pity. That he was at the well. 

He didn’t want to dream anymore.  
  


Renji’s rib was broken. Perhaps more than one. He could tell because each time he inhaled, he felt a tightness in his chest. Like he was overfilling a balloon to the point of popping. His ankle was broken, twisting at an odd angle like a broken tree branch.

Fantastic. More minor injuries that would have meant nothing to him if he had his powers.

Really, he should only be so lucky. If that fall had been only a little less controlled, he could have broken his arm or even his spine. 

Yes, what a pickle he would be in then. So much worse than where he was now, lying on a dirty floor in the dark, paralyzed by pain. 

Renji didn’t think he would ever be relieved to hear the trap door swing open, squinting into the sudden blinding daylight. There was distant mumbling, the tapping of footsteps walking away, a blissful several moments of silence, and then returning. 

Someone hurried down the stairs to kneel by his side, and when Renji’s eyes had adjusted he was unsurprised to see it was Gensei. 

“Oh, goodness. I was afraid this might happen,” he said with a sigh. “Masao told me you had quite the accident last night.”

“ _Accident?_ ” Renji sputtered. “He threw me down the stairs!” 

“Well, yes. But to be fair you did try to strangle him, and that wasn’t very kind of you.” Gensei moved to wrap his arm underneath Renji’s armpit. “Chiaki, come give me a hand, won’t you? We’ll get Renji back to his bed and then see what we can do about those injuries. You must be in some awful pain.” 

Renji recoiled from his touch with a hiss, though pulling back felt like a hot spear sliding through his side. “You know what would really be great for my pain? A fucking doctor!” 

Another pair of hands gripped the back of his shihakusho. Chiaki was small, but she had no trouble lifting Renji up and setting him on his one good wobbly foot. She and her uncle both directed Renji to degradingly hop over to the pallet, and it was admittedly good to lie down on something that wasn’t the cold, hard floor. 

He hoped to be left alone again, but his two visitors had no such plans. Renji angled his vision to Chiaki, her black eyes like pieces of coal, and noticed that she was holding a small satchel in her hands. He recognized it as one of the first aid kids carried by members of the Fourth Division’s relief teams. 

Gensei kneeled down by the foot of Renji’s pallet, beginning to roll up the heavy fabric of Renji’s hakama to see his ankle. “Chiaki, be a good girl and hand me the bandages, will you?”

“No! I’ll do it myself.” Renji raised his hip to pull his foot away, only to hiss again, this time from agonizing pain. His ankle throbbed, his chest hurt. Renji’s stomach lurched like he would puke, if there was literally anything inside him to throw back up. 

Still, he resisted. That was something every wounded animal knew to do, right? When injured, you don’t roll over and show a predator your weak points. No, you bare your teeth. 

Gensei just looked at him with an expression that Renji initially assumed was pity. It wasn’t. People who felt sorry for Renji never looked that grotesquely happy. 

“Now, Renji-kun. There’s no need to be stubborn! After all, you’re in a lot of pain right now, yes? It’s okay to admit that it hurts a lot.” Gensei said. “It must have been a long time since you had an injury like this. One that you can’t shake off or heal with your spiritual energy. You’re used to tolerating pain that way, right? Trying to ignore it and power through. That’s the kind of man you are. But the way you are now, you can’t keep the tough act up forever. You’ll keep feeling like this, unless you let me help you.”

Renji squeezed his eyes shut, teeth clenched so hard that his head started to pulsate. Hell. He had to be in Hell. He didn’t want to hear anymore, but Gensei’s voice continued to pound against his skull like a hammer, striking him with condescending superiority. 

“Wouldn’t you like a little bit of relief? I can treat your foot and give you something to ease the discomfort, and you’ll be right as rain in no time.” 

What was Renji supposed to say? That he would rather die than suffer the indignity of being treated by his enemy?

Probably. That was what a warrior was supposed to say. That’s what Renji would do, if he was on the battlefield and fighting alongside his allies. There was always the chance that Rukia would come to his aid, or that Izuru would appear to heal his wounds. 

But in this dark and lonely place, every inch of Renji’s body hurt _now_ , and he wanted it to stop now. There were no friends to be brave for. 

“Fine.” Renji slammed his head back against the pillow. He was exhausted, and his weariness pulled on his voice. “Just get it over with.” 

Gensei rolled the hakama up Renji’s leg and peeled off his tabi socks, exposing a grotesque, purple knot bulging out where his ankle was supposed to be. Furious dark veins ran underneath the skin, and Gensei went about the task of gently binding the injury. A Squad Four healer couldn’t have been more attentive and careful than he was, fixing the wrapping so it was nice and tight and some of the repetitive throbbing pain dulled. 

It was an awfully convincing display of charity, Renji thought bitterly. He could almost imagine Gensei had planned for Renji to fall or be thrown down those perilous stairs at some point, just so he could play some mind games and finish by showing how kind and nurturing he was. 

“That should feel much better.” Gensei smiled with satisfaction. “I’ll get you something to kill the pain, but first is there anything else that hurts?”

“His breathing is labored, and he’s favoring his left side.” Chiaki had been so quiet, Renji almost forgot she was there. Gensei rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 

“Is it your chest?” 

“My ribs,” Renji admitted, and moved a hand to cover up his side protectively. 

Of course, Gensei ignored this. Without a second thought he yanked Renji’s arm up with one hand, and with the other he pulled Renji’s robes aside to reveal a huge, dark, purple bruise blossoming across the side of Renji’s torso, violet tender skin melding with strokes of black ink. 

Renji entertained himself with visuals of ripping off Gensei’s head. “That _hurts._ ” He spat when Gensei lightly checked the tender, bruised area. 

“Two broken ribs, I believe. Masao must have really lost his temper, that foolish boy.” Gensei tutted. “But don’t worry. Plenty of rest and those will fix themselves in no time. Now, for that painkiller.” 

Gensei hurried upstairs, looking even more chipper than Renji had ever seen him. Renji felt some disgust crawling in his throat as he watched the man depart. 

That left him and Chiaki. Not that Renji was happy to have her company, but any freedom from Gensei’s presence was starting to feel like an instant relief. 

He watched her stoop down to lay the satchel on the floor. Renji didn’t want to think too much about how she got it, if it was stolen or simply lent to her by another shinigami ally who supported her delusions. With free hands, she carefully picked up a small pot covered with terry cloth, a pair of chopsticks poking out the side. 

The pot was set in front of him, and the cloth pulled away to release a cloud of steam rolling off a bowl of udon noodles. 

“You need to eat if you want to survive,” she said simply. “Uncle wants you to stay alive for now, so don’t be difficult.” 

The smell of food taunted him. Renji’s stomach coiled and spasmed with want, and that hunger smashed against his pain in a symphony of agony. She was right; his injuries wouldn’t heal unless he ate and regained his strength.

With effort, Renji rolled onto his uninjured side and tried to push himself off the pallet to sit up. He didn’t like lying down while she talked to him. Some ice on his ribs would feel really good about now, but he doubted that they had any on hand out here in the woods in the middle of spring. 

“And if I’d rather die than stay here? What will you do?” he asked. “Annoy me back to life?” 

“If you die, you die.” Chaiki’s lips peeled in a cruel smile. “They aren’t looking for you, you know. I guess no one cares if you live. We are your only hope of surviving.” 

That simply wasn’t true. Maybe at some point Renji would have believed that everyone in his life had given up on him, but things were different now. His friends were loyal and awfully stubborn. Izuru and Shuuhei would search for him even if the odds were stupidly hopeless.

Thinking about that almost made Renji feel good about the situation. A rescue party would rush in and dramatically whisk him away to safety. How romantic. 

But what if they ran into Gensei and he used his zanpakuto’s ability on them? Masao and Chiaki could have easily killed Renji several times over by now; it was only their mysterious agenda that prevented them from finishing the job. 

They may not be so reserved to someone who interfered with their plans. 

“How come you hate me?” Renji asked her point-blank. “You can’t seriously believe this shit about Seireitei being your-- I dunno, your sacred birthright or whatever. Is it just ‘cuz you think you’re better than me?” 

The question caught her off-guard. Chiaki cocked her head to the side and stared at him a moment, and in that brief instant she looked like any other young woman. Soft face. Clear eyes. 

“No, I don’t think I’m better than you. But you’re right. I _do_ hate you.” She leaned down to meet him nearly at eye-level, hands braced against her knees as if she were speaking to a child. Her lips enunciated each word with unnecessary weight. “You don’t belong in Seireitei. You act so high-and-mighty as lieutenant, even though you have no right to be here in the first place. You serve under the clan leader of one of the four great noble houses, a just and honorable man, yet you refuse to respect him as he deserves from you. I won’t forgive you for that.”

He couldn’t help it. A wheezing laugh jumped up Renji’s throat, almost choking him. Chiaki recoiled from him in shock disgust. 

“Fucking seriously? That’s even more petty than I could have imagined!” Renji grinned at her, his own toothy smile mirroring the meanness she had delivered to him just moments before. “Sorry, but you’re outta luck. Kuchiki Byakuya doesn’t even know you exist, and he’s not gonna jump down your panties.”

_Crack!_

Renji’s head spun, the side of his skull knocked into the wall by the force of her blow. A fresh, red welt stung Renji’s cheek where Chiaki’s palm had collided with it, that hand now hanging in the air as she seethed in rage. 

He didn’t care. It was good to see her frustrated. Much more rewarding than Masao, Renji enjoyed her immature, impotent temper. 

_Guess we see who the weak link is._ Renji’s grin didn’t falter at all. 

Chiaki’s breath came out in hot, furious puffs. Renji could practically see the smoke rolling off her teeth. He could feel the crackle of her spiritual pressure pressing down on him. 

“You won’t die here. That would be too good for someone like you.” She spat. “You’ll die alone in the street like the dog you are. And I, for one, can’t wait to watch.” 

She turned from him and stormed up the stairs, throwing down the trap door and sealing him in darkness again. At least until Gensei returned to pester Renji into taking whatever snake oil he had concocted. 

Renji restrained a sigh, then winced and held his side. What a hot, shitty mess. 

The udon that Chiaki had set out still sat at his feet. It smelled… decent. 

He hated himself as he reached over to pick up the bowl. He hated himself as he put the first noodle to his mouth and instantly felt much better than he had since he landed at the bottom of the stairs. 

It still was not enough. It wasn’t Shuuhei’s cooking. But Chiaki was correct; Renji needed to eat in order to grow stronger and heal his injuries. 

Then he could get out of this place for good.


	4. Letter

“So do you want just the facts, or do you want the theories.”

“The facts, please.”

Shuuhei looked disappointed. Izuru sighed into his hands. 

The printing office had an eternal soft background thrumming from the various heavy machinery churning out finished, inked magazines. Despite Shuuhei’s office typically being a busy location, the constant noise offered some privacy from any prying ears. Shuuhei had spent years handling sensitive information going in and out of his room, and his subordinates knew not to bother him. 

Rukia recounted the events of the captain’s meeting, and the reluctant announcement of theft in the Sixth Division. Shuuhei had to imagine that every captain, including his own, was currently reviewing the books right now to look for discrepancies. Kensei was probably hating every minute of it. 

There was good reason to be alarmed. A loss in the division’s finances would affect payroll and, more importantly, crucial supplies for shinigami such as medical equipment and food. 

Not that there wasn’t also pride on the line as well. Kuchiki had to be feeling foolish right now, being forced to stand in front of his peers and admit that money was stolen from his own squad right under his nose. Nobody else wanted to be duped the same way. 

Rangiku had joined them as soon as she was able, sitting on Shuuhei’s desk to tell them that according to the records no lieutenants had been given permission to open a senkaimon in months. 

“And Kuchiki didn’t mention anything about Renji?” she asked now, brows furrowed. 

“No, and I don’t think he could have.” Rukia shook her head. “Announcing Renji’s disappearance at the same time of the theft-- well, it wouldn’t be an explicit accusation, but it would imply suspicion.” 

Shuuhei faced the whiteboard in his office, marker tapping his lips thoughtfully. He often used it to plan the layout of the newspaper, or organize ideas for a new story. Now, it showed the timeline detailing every inch of information about Renji they had been able to scrounge up from the time he vanished until now. 

It was a rather sparse timeline. Shuuhei began to draw up a second timeline next to the Renji timeline and jotted down the day Byakuya said the theft was discovered. 

“Renji isn’t the only suspect, though. Couldn’t any member of the Sixth Company have taken the money and tampered with the files?” 

“I can’t say I know that much about how the Sixth operates, but based on my own squad I bet only a handful officers are trusted with handling that much money.” Rukia’s arms were folded over her chest. Her foot tapped against the floor, beating out a rhythm to match the turning of the gears in her head. “Only the captain and the lieutenant can enter the office at any time and access those files freely.” 

“Or,” Izuru spoke up for the first time since they entered the office. He had been silently curled up in his seat, knees pulled up to his chest. Now his voice hit heavy, like the ringing of a bell. “Someone who has the lieutenant’s masterkey.” 

Right. Shuuhei had forgotten about the masterkey. 

Every captain and lieutenant had a set, specially formatted for their specific division. It came in handy when those high-ranking officials had to access restricted areas, such as the holding cells, and didn’t have time to go through the usual channels of command. 

Renji’s masterkey was as missing as the lieutenant himself. 

Izuru’s voice was low, but there was an insistent note in it. Something unbridled and urging. “We’ve been working on this all backwards, trying to track Renji through his last known steps. What we should be doing is looking for the original culprit.” 

Shuuhei had to admit, that may be a better lead. “Alright.”

He flipped the whiteboard over to a fresh side. At the top, he wrote a caption and underlined it.  _ ‘Suspects’.  _

“Let’s start simple; who would want to make Renji look like a criminal?”

There was a beat of communal silence. The room was filled with nothing but four lieutenants racking their brains. 

“Aizen?” Rangiku offered doubtfully. “I mean, he’s in Mugen so it’s not likely. But framing people in order to cause a distraction is kind of his M.O.”

“I’ll take it,” Shuuhei said. Not like they had much of a choice at this point. He wrote ‘Aizen’ at the top of the list. “Who else?” 

Back to that heavy silence. After a minute, Rukia flipped her bangs and muttered, “This is harder than I thought it would be.”

With how boisterous and outspoken Renji was, it would make sense that he would have a lot of enemies who wished him ill. But Renji simply wasn’t the kind of person to hold grudges, nor did he ever seem to offend anyone enough to evoke acts of revenge. 

No, that wasn’t true. Renji had plenty of enemies. It was simply that most of them were dead. 

“What about the other members of the Sixth Division?” Izuru suggested. “The seated officers would definitely know where to find the files and the money.” 

Shuuhei started writing down ‘6th division’ at the same time that Rangiku complained. “Are we supposed to assume the entire division are suspects? Isn’t there a better way to narrow it down?”

“Kuchiki-san and I barely had the chance to ask around before Captain Kuchiki and the emergency meeting interrupted us. Someone could know something useful.” 

“The Captain-Commander was acting strange as well. He definitely wanted Nii-sama to tell everyone that Renji was missing,” Rukia said. “Hisagi-san, don’t write that down. He’s not a suspect, I just think it was weird.” 

“This isn’t the final list, I’m just covering all the possible angles,” Shuuhei snapped the cap back on the marker. “The important thing here is that Kuchiki bought us some time to solve the case. The next question is how are we going to investigate all of Squad 6 without looking very, very suspicious?” 

“If anyone asks, Renji is home sick and we’re substituting for him.” Rangiku’s nails slid through her hair as she thought, pushing blond locks over her shoulder. “We should ask Hinamori to help too. She’s really good at getting people to lower their guard.”

“Okay, but let’s not tell any more people about this than necessary,” Shuuhei decided. “We want to keep this under wraps for as long as we can. We’re already playing catch-up with whoever is responsible for this, we don’t want to let them know exactly how far behind we are.”

This was good. As long as Shuuhei could pretend this was work, he didn’t have to think too much about what he was actually doing. He could just fill his mind with as much meaningless chatter as he could. 

It was when the noise stopped that he was in trouble. When Shuuhei’s head was quiet, then the absence of Renji filled in the silence. 

He noticed that the room felt colder without him. That Shuuhei’s own voice was quieter in his ears, when he looked over his shoulder to tell Renji something in a rush of excitement only for his own words to fall dead at his feet. 

Nor could Shuuhei shake the gruesome sense that this was, somehow or some way, his fault.

He saw Rukia and Rangiku out, ready to reconvene tomorrow and return to the investigation. It was admittedly a relief to have the two women helping out; they were smarter and much more inconspicuous. Any member of the Sixth would open up to them eagerly.

They left, and all that remained was Shuuhei standing by the board. And Izuru, still folded in his chair, body knotted together like a tense fist. 

“It’s getting late. We should probably go home now.”

Izuru shrugged. “I guess.”

Neither of them moved.   


Go home? It was impossible. That was the house they bought together, all three of them, filled with thrifted furniture and clutter. The room with a bed that was far too small for three people. Now it fit Shuuhei and Izuru perfectly and neither could sleep at all. 

“There’s still a lot of research to do. We might as well finish it now.”

Izuru finally got up from his side, unfolding his limbs. “I’ll make some coffee.”    
  


* * *

“You look gross.” 

Shuuhei massaged his temples, shutting his eyes to squeeze out daylight. “Your gentle words move me, Kuchiki.” 

Rukia gave him a sharp look, sitting at the corner of her desk in her office at the Thirteenth Division. Her elbows were braced on her knees, perched like some great, black bird. “Did you get any sleep last night at all?”

He let the red-eyed stare speak for him, and Rukia scoffed in disapproval. Renji had been right all along when he said that she could be a tad… intense.

“It’s not like I know the best for you in this kind of situation, but try to pull yourself together. You’re no good to Renji at all if you work yourself to death.”

Shuuhei combed his fingers through his disheveled, unbrushed hair and then down over his eyes. “Can we please not talk about that?” As if he hadn’t been thinking about Renji for the past twelve hours. Cut him some slack, Rukia. “When is Hinamori supposed to get back?”

“She just left. Give her some time to look around.” 

They had divided the Sixth Division among them, investigating in sections to cover the most ground as well as avoid looking suspicious. Momo was currently snooping around the mess hall, chatting with officers to see if anything weird had been going on lately. 

The Sixth boasted a large courtyard and many gardens, so when Momo returned she would send Rangiku and Izuru out to search the outdoor sections of the squad. Later, Rukia would search the offices once again, her status as a Kuchiki deterring people from questioning her. 

That left Shuuhei with the most difficult task of searching the barracks without looking strangely out of place. If he really divided himself from reality, he could almost pretend it was like when they first started dating, and Shuuhei would sneak into Renji’s quarters in the middle of the night. 

Treason. War. Whatever happened, there was always a way to dull the sting of whatever was going on in their lives. Just forget all the seriousness, and pretend the worst thing that could happen was getting discovered screwing around. Lighten the mood with some make-believe, and avoid getting crushed under the weight of their absurd reality. 

A knock at the door yanked Rukia’s attention away. Shuuhei looked at her expectantly, but the shrug she gave him indicated that Rukia hadn’t been expecting any company. 

“Come in.”

The door slid open just a crack, and a round face peeked inside. Rukia threw up her eyebrows in surprise. “Rikichi. How can I help you?” 

The unseated officer quickly slipped past the threshold and shut the door behind him. His shoulders were high and rounded with stress. “Oookay. Oh god. So. I didn’t get to tell you about this yesterday, even though I really wanted to. Renji didn’t want to say anything about it, and Captain Kuchiki is being, like, even more quiet than usual now and not telling us anything. It’s really weird. Okay. Oh, jeeze.” 

Rikichi vibrated with a frantic energy. Shuuhei watched Rukia hop down from her desk to approach the young man. “Rikichi, calm down. Breathe, alright? What are you talking about.” 

The boy inhaled heavily, brows furrowed deeply. “It was… I think two weeks ago now? When I brought some paperwork, there was an envelope that got mixed in with it. For Renji.” His eyes widened, big and brown. “There was… teeth inside it. And the letter-- Um, here. Renji threw it away, but I wanted to try and find out who sent it. So I kinda, um, stole it outta the trash.”

Rikichi’s hand fished in his pocket, coming up in a closed fist that he held out to Rukia. 

His fingers uncurled to reveal a small, crumpled paper ball. Rukia took it and began to delicately smooth out the wrinkled page. Through the back of the abused paper, Shuuhei could clearly see what was written. 

Shuuhei’s stomach felt weightless in his body. Why wouldn’t Renji tell anybody about this? Why wouldn’t Renji tell  _ him _ ?

Rukia scratched her finger against the dry, brown liquid that had been used to scrawl the devious mockery, ‘NO DAMNED DOGS’, and inspected the residue it left under the edge of her nail. “Blood. That could be something. Rikichi, you said this was mixed in with Renji’s paperwork when you were bringing it to him?”

Rikichi shook his head. “No, it was with Captain Kuchiki’s paperwork. Is Renji… gonna be okay?”

A small but firm hand landed gently on Rikichi’s shoulder. Rukia’s smile was brighter than the moon, more soothing than cool water. Her voice was silk and steel, soft and strong at once. 

“Yes, he’ll be okay,” she said kindly. “Thank you for trusting me, Rikichi. I won’t let you down.” 

He looked at her, spellbound. For the first time, Shuuhei realized why Soul Society almost went to war over Kuchiki Rukia. “N-no problem. Just-- Tell me if I can help again. And tell Renji to come back soon.” 

The young shinigami scurried out the door, leaving it open on its frame. Rukia beamed in Shuuhei’s direction, and he felt quite stupid that all he could do was stare at her. “What? If you had an idea, just spit it out. Don’t look so happy.”

“I  _ am _ happy,” Rukia said. “Because now we know for certain that whoever was targeting Renji is definitely in the Sixth Division. And I have an idea for how we can get the upper hand over them. But we need to talk to my brother first.” 

Shuuhei opened his mouth to press her for information, but a shadow passed over the open doorway and he quickly shut up. There could be no eavesdropping, especially at this point. 

“Lieutenant, someone strange just ran out of your office. He looked like he was bothering you.” A low voice came from the doorway. 

Turning to look at the newcomer, Shuuhei saw a tall, dark-haired shinigami. His plain face was distinguished only by rectangular glasses and a sour expression. 

“It’s fine, Masao. He was from the Sixth and came by to give me a message from my brother,” Rukia said casually. 

The shinigami’s frown deepened. “Apologies. Please let me know if someone is--” his dark eyes rolling like stones to rest on Shuuhei, before sliding back to Rukia, “--distracting you, and I will make sure they leave you alone.”

“I said it’s fine, Masao,” Rukia repeated, sounding a little annoyed.

The dark shadow moved. Shuuhei heard heavy, loping footsteps walk down the hall. Further, further, then disappearing. 

As soon as he was sure Masao was gone, Shuuhei went to the door and shut it firmly. “What was  _ his  _ problem?”

“Masao’s always been that way. Don’t worry about him. We have bigger problems to worry about.”

* * *

First and foremost, Rukia had one big problem to worry about if she wanted to get this scheme off the ground.

“I have to say no, Rukia. I won’t condone this.” 

A prickle of irritation rolled up Rukia’s spine and settled tightly in her shoulders. If it was anyone else, she would have her arms folded over her chest and an insistent frown on her face. But she didn’t dare take such an inelegant position when asking her brother for a favor. 

“At least listen to what I have to say before you decide that, please.” 

Rukia wasn’t sure what she expected from Byakuya. Perhaps that he would be doing his own investigation on where Renji was, or at least trying to reassure his subordinates through what must have been a difficult and confusing period, missing their lieutenant and not knowing why. 

And yet, he was not. He was at home and in his study, as he was most evenings. Calligraphy set on one side, freshly brewed tea on the other. It was as if nothing was wrong at all. 

“You are asking me to lie. To my own division. Do you realize how that would besmirch my honor as captain, as well as a Kuchiki? 

“Someone in your squad has already lied to you. This may be the key to finding out where Renji has gone!” Rukia rushed up to kneel next to her brother, sitting slightly behind him with her shoulders bowed so as not to seem disrespectful. 

“Nii-sama, what is the first thing you do when you receive a message from a squad member of another division?” she pressed, leaning forwards on her hands. 

Byakuya studied his calligraphy pen as ink dripped down the length of it, gathering at the tip in a bulbous black orb. “I suppose I read it as soon as I can.” 

Rukia slammed her palm against the floor. “Exactly! You read it!”

Byakuya turned to give her a sharp, disapproving look, and Rukia pulled her hand back and sank lower to the floor. 

“What I mean to say is,” Rukia continued, using her best, soft, agreeable voice. “If a random stranger approached a Sixth Division officer with a mysterious, unmarked letter, it wouldn’t be logical for that squad member to simply shuffle it in with a pile of unrelated paperwork, having no idea when it would get to its intended recipient. They would most likely deliver it to Renji personally. That’s why I believe whoever sent it had to be within the Sixth Division itself! Someone who knew Renji would be in the office to receive the letter and slipped it into a pile of the division’s private documents at the right time.” 

“You have no evidence to claim that.”

“No, but with the information we have, it makes the most sense.” Rukia dug into her pocket, and carefully retrieved the letter that Rikichi had handed to her. Looking at the blood and the stains still made Rukia’s fingers feel numb where she touched the page (DAMNED DOG. She had nightmares about those words still.) but she had delicately folded it into sixths to prevent further damage.   


“You will make an announcement to your division that you discovered this threatening letter addressed to yourself, not to Renji. Then, you will tell them that you are sending it to the Twelfth Division to have the blood analyzed and paper tested for fingerprints. The culprit will be forced to either remain silent and risk having their identity exposed, or attempt to destroy the evidence and give us the opportunity to catch them.”

Byakuya shut his eyes for a beat, and finally sighed before putting down his calligraphy pen. “Rukia, I know your intentions are good, but you must not act foolishly. The Twelfth Division is not able to run tests that advanced, let alone match DNA samples to anyone in Soul Society.” 

“No, probably not,” Rukia agreed. “But that is why you will not actually send it anywhere. It’s just bait to lure the culprit into acting.” 

“Even so, it’s a gamble. What if they do nothing?”

“They might. But I think it’s more likely they’ll try anything to protect even the smallest sliver of their identity. Since the person who took Renji is most likely also the money thief trying to frame him, their entire plan relies on secrecy.”

“That’s not enough.” Byakuya shook his head. “Without Renji, I can’t risk instilling panic among the division.”

Rukia’s hands squeezed into fists, she breathed in deeply. She needed to stay cool if she wanted any hope of Byakuya listening to her. “Then please, tell me what you intend to do to find Renji. Because I don’t understand your methods.”

Why did it always have to be this way? Why was it always an uphill battle to convince Byakuya to just work with her instead of against her? Even when he did help Rukia, like with Orihime’s abduction by Aizen, he always kept a piece of the information to himself. He made her feel stupid for expecting him to be on her side. 

“You haven’t even told anyone that Renji is missing, have you? Have you even done anything to find him?” 

He was quiet for a beat. The only sound was the rising thrum of Rukia’s heart in her ears. 

“You know that Renji is the most capable lieutenant I’ve had. Your concern for your fellow warrior is disrespectful to his abilities.” 

“But Renji could be hurt! Or--” Rukia’s stopped herself. He wasn’t dead. She wouldn’t say it, even as a possibility. 

Even so, Rukia hadn’t put much thought into where Renji was right now. She had purposefully avoided thinking about it, because she knew that path was a dark spiral ready to consume her. 

Where was Renji at this very moment? Was he injured? In pain? 

Was he scared? 

Rukia knew what it meant to be held prisoner. She thought of that prison cell, where the thought of her execution was her constant companion. Where she had been the most lonely and frightened. The worst part had been the effort of holding onto hope, only for it to die a small death every time doubtful thoughts took control. Hope had to be resurrected every day, and mourned every night. 

And Renji was like Rukia. He would put on his bravest face and try to hold all the fear deep inside him, where it would fester and rot. 

Her throat felt tight.

“Nii-sama, if you won’t make the announcement, then I have made an arrangement with Lieutenant Hisagi to publish it in the Seireitei Communication.”

Byakuya’s hand jerked. In one awkward motion, a splatter of ink had been flung off of his calligraphy brush and now soaked black into the fabric of his white gloves. 

Rukia watched with held breath as Byakuya inhaled, then slowly put the brush down. He turned to face her, his eyes closed but his mouth pinched. 

She had seen him angry before, but Rukia had never seen him angry at her. Cold, indifferent, dismissive, but never furious like he was now. 

“Rukia,” His voice was cutting. “If you do that, you will be lying not only to the Sixth Division, but the entire Seireitei. The eyes of the other captains and the captain-commander are already hovering over me, now you wish to humiliate me in front of the entire Gotei?” 

Rukia bowed her head low to him. As if that would do anything to improve her situation right now, but hope springs eternal. ‘Please understand my perspective, Nii-sama. As captain, the safety of your lieutenant takes priority over your pride.” 

Byakuya stood up, and standing over her bowed body Rukia could feel the full force of his wrath wash over her. His spiritual pressure leaked out, and pressed against Rukia’s back and shoulders like a physical weight, making her feel small. He didn’t mean to do it. He never meant to. 

“Fine. I’ll humor your ridiculous scheme.” She had never heard him speak through gritted teeth before. “But after this, ask me for no more favors. And stop interfering with my division. Are we clear?”

“Completely, Nii-sama.” Rukia spoke into the floor. “My gratitude knows no limits.” 

Byakuya left, leaving behind a half-finished scroll, a cold pot of tea, and a single, black spot of a stain on the tatami mat.

When the door slid shut behind him, Rukia finally exhaled in relief. 

* * *

Rangiku hated waiting, but she did it an awful, awful lot. 

When Rukia confirmed that Byakuya would make the announcement, Rangiku hoped things would move along quickly. The letter was meant to remain in the Sixth Division for three more days, held under lock-and-key as evidence, before being ‘passed along’ to the Twelfth. 

The moon inched across the sky over Rangiku’s head. She watched it, laying with her back spread across the tiles of the roof she rested upon. This was the third night, and the last opportunity they had to reel in the big one. 

Below her, the Sixth Division’s expansive grounds were almost silent. A few night-owls remained to burn the midnight oil, their windows were lit like fireflies. Rangiku closed her eyes and let the breeze coast over her, trying to open her ears to the hidden sounds of the evening. 

She was of course worried about Renji. It took a minute for Rangiku to believe that he could actually be in trouble, and that Izuru, Shuuhei and Rukia weren’t being terribly, overly anxious. But she was quickly changing her tune about the whole thing; Rangiku knew if it were her in trouble, nothing would feel worse than being ignored and left behind. 

Mostly, though, she worried about Izuru. Rangiku had seen how Izuru could fall into despair, she didn’t want to see him get hurt again.

Stupid Renji. Rangiku toyed with the chain necklace around her throat. Why did he have to go and get everyone upset?

She could have stayed there like that all night, counting the stars. The Seireitei could have stayed silent, and Rukia would need to spearhead a new plan. Rangiku would join in, no matter how many times they failed. 

She trusted Rukia. Trusted her more than Rangiku thought she should be able to at this point. Something about the black-haired shinigami was difficult to resist. Rangiku tugged the silver chain anxiously. 

Fortunately or unfortunately, it would never come to that. Because a few hours after midnight, an explosion shook the head office of the Sixth Division. 

Rangiku rolled onto her stomach and scrambled to her feet as fast as she could, her foot nearly slipping off the tiles as she did so. With Shunpo she lept to the ground level and nimbly sprinted in the direction of the blasting noise.

This was the chance they had been waiting for. Perhaps the only chance. 

Shuuhei’s explosive traps had certainly done their job. When Rangiku approached the office, she could see the broken glass and splinters of wood that had been spat out of the windows when the bombs ignited. Smoke billowed from the broken windows and into the sky like great, black snakes weaving through the air. 

Rangiku covered her mouth, and ashes stung her eyes. She had never seen Shuuhei’s explosive work up close before, though she saw him wearing those black armbands almost every day. They were perhaps too effective. 

But doubt flew away when she saw a shadow moving amidst the chaos. Someone was running away from the ruined office. 

She started to run. Rangiku wasn’t the fastest shinigami, but she was agile and cunning and no one could slip out of her sights. The figure jumped from the ground over the courtyard walls onto the nearest roof and Rangiku followed in pursuit. She could smell the odor of smoke rolling off of their clothes. 

The air filled with the sound of chains rattling, then metal whizzing through the air. The mysterious figure threw themselves out of the way of Kazeshini’s scythe flying down to take off their head. 

A thin smile pulled at Rangiku’s lips. As the mystery shadow recoiled from Shuuhei’s attack, Rangiku caught up. In an instant she was close enough to feel the panic rolling off of their body. 

Rangiku’s hand went to her zanpakuto, and Haineko hissed as she flew from her sheath and cut through soft skin. The scent of blood exploded in Rangiku’s nose as her victim crumpled in pain and rolled off the edge of the roof. There was a soft ‘thud’ of a body hitting the hard ground below her feet. 

“Oh dear,” She flicked crimson off her blade. Rangiku heard Shuuhei’s feet land on the roof next to her, Kazeshini still gripped in both hands. “That was quite a tumble.”

“Are they dead?” 

“From that little fall? I doubt it.” 

Rangiku jumped down to the ground, landing easily over the broken body laying on the cobblestone. She heard the deep voice of a man groan in distress, his arm bent and twisted in such a way that it almost made Rangiku nauseated to see. 

With her foot, she rolled him over onto his back. A white mask stared back at her. 

“That figures.” Shuuhei stepped up next to Rangiku, then kneeled down to yank the mask off the intruder’s face. The man’s labored breathing could be heard, unmasked to reveal the face of a brown-haired, freckled young man.

Rangiku felt air catch in her lungs and a squeeze in her throat. 

“I know this guy.” She nudged him with her heel, and the man flinched. He looked to be on the verge of unconsciousness. “He was in the Eighth Division with me, back when I was fourth seat. Takeda’s his name.”

Shuuhei turned the mask over in his hand, looking at it with a dark expression. “Did he transfer to the Sixth?”

“No, I don’t think so. Last I heard, he was in the Seventh.” 

A sudden clapping like thunder rolled over the street. The emergency alarm had been raised, calling upon all shinigami to rise from their beds and prepare for orders. The guards would be arriving any minute now. 

“Izuru and the others should have been here by now. They must have found another person trying to escape.” 

There were accomplices. Rangiku tore her eyes off of the sky to look back down at the man they had apprehended. It had been years since she saw him. Why was he here now? Who was he?

The arm that was not terribly broken tensed up, hand clenched into a white-knuckled fist. Rangiku jumped back. “Shuuhei!” 

She expected the small, razor-sharp blade that appeared from the shinigami’s wrist. She also expected it to dig right into Shuuhei’s leg, which was mere inches away from where he lay. 

But it did not. Takeda sat up as if pulled by puppet strings, and brought the knife up. An involuntary scream forced its way out of Rangiku’s mouth before she could clap her hand over her face, and Shuuhei flinched away with an exclamation  _ “Shit!”  _ as blood spilled down and speckled the walkways like drops of rain. 

The emergency guards found the two of them there, standing over the man as he bled out through his slit throat. 

  
  



	5. Choke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning in this chapter for some uncool voyeurism

In his dream, he was in the well. 

Renji could feel the water pooled around his ankles, cold and wet numbness sinking into his skin and spreading up his legs. The stone walls were tight, there was barely enough room around his shoulders to move his arms. 

He waited for the rope and bucket to drop down from the top. Even if nobody at the surface could or would pull him up. Even if the rope snapped under his weight. Renji waited for something to cling to.

Somebody was standing at the top. They looked miles away. Their head blocked out the sky and the Sun, covering Renji with their shadow. 

Seeing someone above him should have filled Renji with hope. But any anticipation of being saved was instead drowned by shame. He was stuck, powerless to save himself. He felt small and weak. He deserved to die here. 

Renji squinted towards the opening of the well, up towards the sky. Who was it standing there? Who had come to observe his suffering?

Dark, brown eyes leered down at him. Renji saw the outline of his own black tattoos, sharp as teeth. He saw his own judgemental stare drilling into his soul. Traitor. Monster. 

Renji woke up staring at the ceiling. His feet were cold where they stuck out of the thin quilt. 

* * *

Chiaki did not come back down. Renji hoped he had offended her enough that she wouldn’t stand to even be in the same room as him. He wasn’t so lucky with Gensei and Masao, who kept him on his terribly dull routine of meals and bathroom breaks. 

He didn’t realize what an ache it would be, needing to wait on someone else to give Renji permission to eat and relieve himself. His broken ankle still hurt, and infuriatingly he had to lean on Gensei’s shoulder to get up the stairs. 

The rest of the time, Renji tried to sleep. If he rested, his injuries would heal faster and he could plan his next attempt at escape. That is, until his dreams became even more stressful than the waking world, and Renji woke up doused in sweat.

“Coming down!” Gensei announced brightly after pulling the trap door up. Renji watched unimpressed as he walked down the stairs with two plates in either hand. He approached and presented Renji with the dishes. “Dinner is beef bowl tonight, with a side of sliced peaches. How are you feeling this evening?”

“Fine,” Renji answered dryly. He took the bowl from Gensei’s hand and reluctantly began to eat. 

It was admitting defeat, taking food as if Renji were a houseguest and not a prisoner. But he needed to grow stronger. He had to be patient, and he had to hold onto his pride. What was left of it, anyways. 

Gensei’s face shone at Renji’s grim acceptance. He seemed to feed off it, the little inches of compliance that Renji gave. The withering of his resolve. They both knew that even if Renji was getting physically stronger, his mental resistance was getting weaker. 

“I have something I think you’ll like upstairs,” Gensei said, clapping his hands and starting back towards the staircase. “It’s rather stuffy down here, and I’m sorry to say you’re beginning to smell a bit funky.”

Renji didn’t say anything in response. He had been trying to avoid the fact that he hadn’t bathed in days, steadily becoming more and more uncomfortable in his own vileness. 

It was fitting, Renji thought as he shoved a mouthful of meat and rice into his mouth. All he did was eat and sleep, like a pig in a pen. Self-loathing pricked at his skull like an icepick driving slowly into his brainstem. Where had his pride gone? What was the point of living if he couldn’t keep his self-respect.

Gensei came back down, climbing the stairs slowly. In his arms, he carried a metal tub that one might use for washing clothes, the awkward shape wobbling in his arms on the way down. He placed it against one of the walls, and from within he produced a pitcher of water and a white bar of soap folded within a washcloth. He lined the items up on the floor proudly. 

“This should make things a little more pleasant, yes? And here-- something fresh and clean.” Gensei took a pile of white fabric out of the tub and unfurled it, spreading a white yukata not dissimilar from the robes shinigami wore under their shihakusho. 

He turned to Renji, as if he was expecting gratitude. He would receive none.

“What are you waiting around for?” Renji asked. He was tired; Gensei’s presense always drained the life right out of Renji even more than the rest of this terrible place did. “You told me days ago that you would let me go when you got what you wanted from me. You never told me what that was.”

“Will you be comfortable bathing with your injuries?” Gensei breezed right over Renji’s question, predictably. “I can wash your back.”

Nothing would make Renji more disgusted. 

“Are you trying to, like, indoctrinate me or something? Do you want me to join your group?” Renji pressed. “Probably not, if your goal is to kick out all the commoners, huh? Then maybe you’re trying to get information. I have pull with the rest of the lieutenants. Some of the captains, too. Do you want power? Money?” 

This was a gross overstatement, but Gensei didn’t need to know that. Renji watched carefully for a reaction. 

(How humiliating it was, trying to barter for his life. Was he really so desperate now? When had patience and fortitude turned into resignation? Renji thought once that he could endure anything, where was that resilience now?)

“Honestly, Renji-kun? What I want most of all right now is for you to take care of yourself. You look awfully uncomfortable right now.” 

Of course. Why would Renji have expected a clear answer? Shame on him. 

It wasn’t just that. Gensei wouldn’t give something for nothing; Renji would have to make an exchange. 

Renji rolled his head back, eyes thrown up to the ceiling. Swallowing down his frustration, Renji stiffly held out his hand in Gensei’s direction. “Help me up.” 

He easily pulled Renji up to his feet, wobbling a little unsteadily on his bad ankle. Gensei was right. It was stuffy in this basement, and Renji never felt like he was able to get enough air. Standing up quickly made him dizzy. 

But even in this state, Renji was not so enfeebled that he couldn’t take himself to where the wash tub sat and kneel down infront of it. He could feel the eyes that bore into his back, and Renji tried to focus on the soothing sound of running water as he poured it out of the pitcher and into the basin. 

The first mistake he made was looking at his own reflection in the shallow water. Yuck. Renji’s long and vibrant hair, which he had always been proud of, looked oily and stringy. His skin was covered in a thin layer of dried, sticky sweat and dark shadows were already forming under his eyes. 

_Toughen up. It’s not like you’re dying,_ Renji reminded himself. Still, it was hard to see himself like this. 

(Renji’s own eyes followed him from the other side of the water. Looking up at him. Or maybe Renji was the one looking up, and his reflection was looking down.)

Renji took off his bandana, and let down the pin that was keeping his hair up. His hair felt slick and gross when he ran his fingers through it, and Renji started with wetting the washcloth and running it over his hair to take out some of the oil. 

Some actual hair product would have been fucking nice, but Renji wasn’t about to give Gensei something to say no to. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? To give Renji scraps, little shreds of dignity and comfort, so that he still had something to lose. Something that could be taken away if he needed to be punished. But he was never given enough to make Renji forget where he was. What he was. 

“So why am I here?” Renji asked again. As he ran the washcloth through his hair, the terry cloth caught on some bits of dried blood from when Chiaki first knocked him out. “You could’ve killed me at any time, so either you want something or you’re waiting for something.” 

“Well, you’re not wrong. It would be easy to kill you, but then we wouldn’t want anyone to track down your body too soon,” Gensei answered. “Much easier to keep you where we can keep an eye on you.”

When he could procrastinate no longer, Renji unfolded the top of his shihakusho and pushed it down to his waist. He had never been particularly shy before, but being at Gensei’s mercy came with a pressing, suffocating sense of danger. 

Renji waited to see if he would get that crawling-under-the-skin sense of voyeurism. If Gensei would finally bare his teeth and his appetite, a hand coming down on Renji’s bare shoulder or wrapping around his exposed throat. 

(It always came back to that, didn’t it? Being hunted. Renji had been hunted since he was on the cusp of puberty in Inuzuri, and first became aware of the leering, zombie-like eyes on his bare legs. He had been hunted in the Seireitei by gluttonous, noble leches who saw Renji as an exotic animal to be skinned, vying to add his pelt to their blueblood collection. Why wouldn’t he be hunted here as well?) 

But the only part of him that Gensei seemed to fixate on was the splotchy bruise on Renji’s ribs, the plum purple spilling over his black tattoos like stained ink across a printed page. His weak point. 

That was the whole point, Renji dully realized as he continued washing. Gensei would never touch him, just like he would never use his own hands to hurt Renji as long as he had lackeys to do it for him. He would continue to wear his mask of sweetness. 

But he could violate Renji’s privacy and independence. He could crush Renji’s disobedience when he reared back, until he had a psychological stranglehold over everything that Renji could say or do. 

“What does ‘too soon’ mean?” 

Gensei took a seat on the crate next to the lantern, throwing its light against his skin and broad shoulders. “Well, before the order has gone out for your arrest. The charge for desertion alone is 100 years in the Nest of Maggots, not to mention a few other suspicious incidents that may be attributed to the lieutenant who went missing without a trace after having a loud disagreement with his captain. The same captain he’s historically had a rocky relationship with, I might add.”

Yeah, that figured. Of course Gensei wanted to drag Renji’s name through the mud. Another way to control him.

Would that really be enough to turn the Gotei against him, though? Renji wished he could firmly believe it wouldn’t, but to be honest he wasn’t sure. 

He wouldn’t be alone, though. Shuuhei wouldn’t rest until he had dug up the evidence to clear his name. Izuru would think of a way to outsmart any plan Gensei could come up with. Rukia would gather the rest of his friends and rally together to support him. 

_You’re supposed to be the one that protects them, not the other way around._

Renji grit his teeth, wiping sweat and dirt off of his face. He had to be realistic about his own limitations. There was no way he would be able to figure this out on his own. 

“I do worry if it’s enough, though. Central 46 is so fickle, you have to really make a big impression on them these days if you want to see anything done.” Gensei sighed. “I suppose we could add ‘murder suspect’ to your charges, really up the ante. One of your vice-captain friends would be ideal, but I wouldn’t want to take the public eye off of you with someone flashy. Better to choose someone weak and useless who won’t stand out, then. Like good old Rikichi, or the Sanada boy. Or that Shirogane girl-- you’re friends with her father, aren’t you?” 

Renji’s shoulders tensed in alarm, the washcloth slipped from his hands and landed wetly in the basin. He aimed a razor-sharp look of accusation. “Why would you bring them into this? Your own subordinates! They trust you!”

“I’m sure they also trusted me not to kidnap our lieutenant, so it’s a little late for what I would or wouldn’t do.” Gensei grinned and scratched his neck. He aimed a distant, thoughtful look at the space over Renji’s head. “Yes, Shirogane would do fine. We can put her body in your lieutenant’s quarters, do a little visual storytelling. Maybe you had an exploitative relationship with her, and after a vicious lovers’ quarrel you just… lost your temper! A Rukongai warmongering mongrel brutalizing the daughter of a Sixth Division veteran. _Very_ romantic. I bet the noble families will just eat it right up!” 

Repulsion curdled in Renji’s stomach, hot and spikey and stabbing against his insides. Killing Gensei would be so easy, if only Renji had his powers. If only he had Zabimaru in his hand instead of cheap, rank-smelling soap. 

No, being slaughtered by Zabimaru was too good. Renji would crush his skull under his heel alone. 

“Keep smiling, asshole. Snatching me up is one thing, everyone knows I'm fine on my own. But they won’t let you go around killing innocent people.” Renji hissed. His fingers gripped the rim of the tub, knuckles turning bone-white. “You’ll screw up sooner or later and get figured out. Then you’ll be the one rotting in the Nest of Maggots, not me.” 

“Maybe you’re right.” Gensei shrugged. “I suppose the question is what we can get away with in the meantime.” 

A warning.

A threat.

Renji regarded his reflection once more. He didn’t see an angry man staring back at him anymore. Nor did he see a sinister-eyed, shadowy, judgmental monster. He saw a face that was incredibly exhausted. Exhausted and sad. 

“What if the other charges are enough, though?” Renji asked. “What if I stay here, and just disappear from the Gotei in disgrace?” 

He didn’t look up to see Gensei’s grin. “That would make everything a lot cleaner, don’t you think?”

A tense silence crawled over the room, sticking to the walls and ceiling and chewing its way through Renji’s skin. Gensei at last stood up and, with a stretch and a groan, walked for the stairs. 

“You’re taking quite a while, Renji-kun. I didn’t realize you were quite so vain!” He chuckled. “I’ll leave you to it, and come back down in a little while to bring you something to eat and take your old uniform for you.”

It had been six days-- was it really only six days?

Renji looked at his reflection again, and then held up his hand over the water. He studied his clenched fist, the scars from years of fighting. The soft parts of his palm in contrast with the sword calluses on his fingers. 

He felt no reiatsu. Not even a faintest pulse of life. 

He had to gnaw on the unfortunate possibility that Gensei had been lying when he said his abilities wore off. 

  
  


The day passed to evening, then to day again. Renji was left with a lot of time to pour over what he was going to do now. If anything. 

He could hear footsteps through the ceiling, gently tapping over his head like raindrops against the roof. Renji lay like a corpse and shut his eyes, imagining that the people above him didn’t exist. It was only the rain and wind. A storm approaching. 

Renji had to assume that Gensei could kill whoever he wanted to. The power to steal a shinigami’s spiritual power instantly was so devastating, Renji almost couldn’t believe Gensei was allowed to have a zanpakuto in the first place. Unless he had pulled an Aizen and kept it secret from everyone all these years. 

At least he didn’t seem to know about Shuuhei and Izuru. If Gensei was aware that Renji was in a relationship with them, then surely he would have used that as leverage, right? He would hold them over Renji’s head right away. 

Unless he was trying to make Renji _think_ he didn’t know. And that he actually did know, and didn’t want Renji to know he knew. Renji groaned and covered his eyes with his hands. 

And then there was Rukia. She was from the Rukongai as well, and her friendship with Renji was quite public. But Rukia was an adopted Kuchiki, and a group trying to unite the noble bloodlines wouldn’t go against the Kuchiki Clan, so she was probably safe. 

But what about other shinigami without that protection? Not just Renji’s boyfriends, but Rangiku, Momo, Ikkaku, anyone from outside the Seireitei could become a target. After Rikichi and the other expendable members of the Sixth.

A stab of guilt pierced Renji’s chest. He couldn’t believe he was even doing this, ranking who he wanted to die the least. Pathetic. Coward. 

There was no way around it. The only way for Renji to keep everyone safe was to stay here and do nothing. Spending the rest of the foreseeable future in this damp, dingy basement. Giving up and living a hollow life. 

It wasn’t just people that Renji missed. It wasn’t just getting to go outside when he wanted, or being able to stretch his arms more than a foot apart from each other. Most of the time he missed Zabimaru, probably still sitting on her stand in the Sixth Division’s office where Renji had last hung her. 

What would they do with Renji’s zanpakuto after he was officially declared a deserter? Probably break her into pieces so that Renji could never use her again. Though perhaps that was better than being locked up for eternity, gathering dust in some cluttered archive as evidence to a cold case that would be forgotten in a matter of decades. She would be locked away, just like him.

Renji tried to imagine that he could reach Zabimaru, the strongest piece of his soul that had grown and changed alongside him through the years. That big, animal shape carrying herself proudly on her paws, movements tied between lumbering and graceful. The white fur and scales criss-crossed with black stripes to match Renji’s own, and the smell of earth that soaked into the room when she manifested. 

But he heard nothing. He felt nothing. Either because he was too far from his sword or simply too weak. 

Maybe it was better that way. If Zabimaru was able to talk to him, she would just give him a scathing lecture on how badly he had fucked up to get to this position. The nue spirit was a reflection of Renji; specifically she reflected all the parts of him that hungered for growth and change. She was a creature born from blood, forged out of endless ambition. Zabimaru would hate to see him right now, stagnant and weak, while she slowly starved. 

Even with her harshest insults, though, Renji would have welcomed Zabimaru’s companionship. Something familiar and private. 

He missed the sound of Izuru’s voice, low and with that sort of lullabye quality to it. Sometimes when he woke up, Renji would roll over on his pallet and think that he could see Izuru lying next to him in bed, knees pulled up and a book propped against his legs. His blue eyes would be heavy-lidded, long lashes batting like butterfly wings as he absorbed the musings of ancient poet-warriors. 

He missed Shuuhei’s serious face, that stony frown and piercing eyes that froze his opponents in terror but Renji found so crushingly adorable. The way that Shuuhei could flip from stoic to passionate about the most peculiar things, voicing his strong opinions and never compromising. He was a peace-loving, gentle soul who could argue for hours and hours about absolutely nothing.

Renji missed sunlight streaming through the windows. He missed taking hot baths, and climbing onto the roof to smoke even though he wasn’t supposed to. 

He missed walking into a room and feeling everybody’s eyes on him, feeling warm and bright under the glow of attention. He missed being able to walk away and disappear whenever he wanted, independent as an outdoor cat. 

Seven days. It had only been seven days and Renji was already falling to pieces. How long had Rukia been in prison? If Renji recalled correctly, it had been almost twice that long. Inoue Orihime had been about the same length. Those girls were a hundred times braver than Renji was. 

He was nothing. Not even worth rescuing. To Renji’s horror, he felt a hot sting at the corner of his eyes, and each droplet of water that threatened to slide out was another reason to hate himself. 

Renji wasn’t strong enough to get himself out. He wasn’t smart enough to think of a solution. He wasn’t brave enough to put others’ lives at risk. 

So what was left?

* * *

He had not known it would feel this way, to be nothing again. 

As a child, Renji hadn’t known the extent to which he was deprived. He was aware that he was lacking, sure-- even as a little kid, he had a vague idea that somewhere in the world there were places where people were not constantly hungry and scared. For some unknown reason, Renji had to suffer. He, and Rukia, and the other pups.

Rukia had always been tiny. Her hands turned pink and raw during the cold months. In the summer, the lack of available clean water made her prone to heat stroke. 

It was agonizing for Renji to watch the days turn long and hot, knowing that it would make Rukia sick and there was next to nothing that he could do about it. They would find an abandoned shack to squat in, holding it for maybe a few days before an adult came and they would either have to leave or fight with fierce little nails and teeth like rats. 

Rukia would sleep on the floor, under the shade of the patchy, rotting roof tiles. Renji couldn’t do anything else for her except change her sweaty clothes and cut her long, black hair into uneven chunks with a jagged blade to get some cool air on her skin. Holding chunks of her matted, dark hair in one hand, and a rusty shard of metal in another.

That was what his hands could do; cut. Damage. His child-sized hands with broken knuckles standing out unevenly against the skin and black grime underneath his nails. Renji wished he could do something other than destroy. He longed for the ability to nurture. 

All night, the sound of Rukia’s breath rattling in her chest kept Renji awake. All day, he had to drag down her burning body from trying to stand up, until Rukia was kicking and screaming at him. So great was her discomfort that the lines between her reality and her sickness blurred, and she was too lost to notice the red scratches she left on his arms. 

Renji didn’t have a choice. Rukia needed water.

He went to the well.

The Sun was blistering hot. The stones around the well were white and hurt Renji’s hands when he laid them on the surface. Despite the hot, hot light coming down from the sky, it didn’t penetrate the swollen blackness deep within the well. Renji leaned over the walls to peer over, his fingers gripping the edge. 

He ripped his eyes away. Don’t look. Don’t think about it. Renji couldn’t be afraid. 

He threw the bucket down. The rope went taught in Renji’s grip, though he didn’t hear the impact of wood slapping water or dirt. 

For the hundredth time, he wondered how deep it was. He couldn’t stop, it drew Renji’s eyes down hypnotically. The darkness seemed to be moving. Active. Alive. A swarming pit of black worms. The open throat of a snake unhinging its jaw to consume him.

Renji yelped as a hand slammed down on the back of his neck. It was large, with long nails digging into his skin and pinching out choking noises of resistance. It pushed Renji’s head down, towards that monstrous gap in the earth that wanted to consume him. 

The hand pushed, and Renji had to brace his arms against the edge of the well to avoid losing his footing underneath him. Desperate heartbeats pounded in Renji’s ears, terror fueling his resistance. 

He would _not_ go in there! Renji knew if he fell down the well that he could certainly die, and he would die slow. He refused! He would _not die_!

The pressure released. That horrible weight pressing Renji into the well vanished, and he stumbled backwards to land on his butt in the dirt. Fear and triumph twisted inside of him, a cocktail of adrenaline thrumming in his blood.

Renji looked around him, head whipping to the side. He waited to see a grown man with the long, dirty fingernails, looking down at Renji with dead, sunken, yellow eyes. Renji’s killer if he died, and his future if he lived.

But there was no one around at all. Only Renji and the well. 

  
  


* * *

Renji stayed in bed all day, and well into the next day as well. 

His ankle was healing well enough. If Renji wanted to, he could stand on it and walk around, only limping a little. What a joy. He could explore every inch of his coffin.

He stayed curled up on the pallet, the thin blanket pulled up over his head. Sleep avoided Renji, but that mattered less and less to him. Time, nature, and even his own body were mere concepts that Renji stubbornly clung to in order to keep his sanity. 

The trapdoor flipped open, and someone came down the stairs. Given that he didn’t immediately hear Gensei’s annoyingly chipper voice and Chiaki was still avoiding him, Renji assumed it was Masao. 

There was a wooden click of Masao setting down the tray of Renji’s lunch on the hard floor. He picked up the empty tray that had the remains of breakfast on it. 

Renji remained unmoving, pressed up against the wall with his back to the stairs. He heard the sound of a single match being struck, a new candle being lit, followed by ominous silence. Masao lingered in the center of the room, looming over him. An unfeeling, unempathetic statue. A pair of eyes in a painting that followed you around the room.

After a minute or so, Masao determined that Renji was asleep and left. Renji almost blew his cover by sighing in relief. He hated how lonely he was, but he hated his captors more. Maybe if he just pretended to sleep whenever he heard footsteps, they’d leave him alone. Just keep bringing his meals and candles.

Candles.

Renji’s eyes flew open. 

Rolling onto his knees, Renji pulled himself up to the paper lantern. Its hot glow hurt his eyes; he had become accustomed to the dark. And yet, it continued to shine yellow like the Sun. 

He carefully put his fingers on the surface of the lantern, the paper delicate and dry against his skin. A thin wire frame held its structure. Renji lifted the cover off of the inner base of the lantern. 

Uncovered, a small, white flame shone naked in the dark. Renji watched it burn in splendor, and an idea began to form.


	6. Witness

When they left Soul Society, it was sunny and clear. Blue skies, fluffy clouds, an absolutely perfect day. Business as usual. 

It was always that way, Ikkaku figured. Anything could happen, any tragedy or disturbance, and it wouldn’t take anything less than an all-out war to shake the Seireitei from its gleaming, conceited perfection. Disgusting.

The human world was the total opposite. It was constantly changing, and constantly sensitive to its own break-neck trajectory into the future. Even the rain seemed to be moody and anxious, the gray skies pouring icy water down. It made the pavement on the streets slick, mixing with oil on the asphalt to make puddles of rainbow colors, completely alien to anything in Soul Society. 

The water seemed to enhance the smell of the city. The cement, the soiled air. Ikkaku could not decide if he liked it or not as he looked up at a tainted sky through the clear plastic of Yumichika’s umbrella. 

It had been about a year since either of them were here, in Karakura Town, where it all began. There had been no reason to return since the war; it never seemed appropriate.

Yumichika twisted the handle of the umbrella, sending raindrops scattering over their heads. “It hasn’t changed a bit, has it? So dreary.”

The small shop was as humble as it ever was, tucked in the back alley behind larger, more impressive stores. With the dark wood and rice-paper doors under the hand-painted sign declaring ‘Urahara Shoten’, the candy store looked as if it had been sucked right out of the past and thrown up on the street. 

“Desperately needs a new coat of paint. It’s not even cute at this point.” 

“It was never cute.” Ikkaku grunted, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt. He always hated gigais, so annoying. “What d’you think are the odds that Urahara will actually help out?” 

Yumichika shrugged, nonplussed. “Kuchiki did say he could be useful, but I don’t know him well enough to say. But we’ll need his Senkaimon to bring anyone back through with us, so this was the logical first stop.”

Water ran down the green and white awning of the shop. Yumichika’s long, dark lashes touched the corners of his cheeks when he smiled. 

“Besides, you never know,” he said, and his eyes slid to Ikkaku hopefully. “Abarai always hung around this place when he came to the World of the Living. Perhaps he was here the whole time.”

As they walked towards the wooden stairs, the paper door slid open. And Ikkaku foolishly half-expected to see Renji on the other side of the door.

He didn’t, of course. Instead, a dark-haired girl in a high school uniform stepped out and buttoned up her jacket to ward off the chill. Ururu picked an old broom off the porch and began sweeping the mud off of the steps. 

Ikkaku’s shoulders sank into his disappointment. No, of course Renji couldn’t make it that easy for them. “Let’s get this over with.”   
  


* * *

This wasn’t the first time that Izuru had called in front of Central 46. Knowing his own luck, it wouldn’t be the last time, either.

Izuru was a poet. He used words to describe everything, especially thoughts and feelings. That was the whole point of the art. But there were no words in any language to describe the depth of his hatred for this farce.

At his side, Shuuhei stood stone-faced to the Central 46 assembly. He had also been called to testify before, Shuuhei knew how these things worked. But his eyes were already far away, replaying and scrutinizing his memories from the previous night. 

Rukia had her arms folded behind her back, clutching tightly at her sleeves. He felt bad; it had been Rukia’s plan, so she would try to take responsibility for all of them. Izuru hated when people tried to take responsibility for him.

On Izuru’s other side, Rangiku and Momo traded silent communications. Rangiku’s hand rested on Momo’s shoulder. There were still bright red flecks of blood on Rangiku’s socks. Her usual, carefree smile was replaced with an expression of icy hostility towards the assembly of judges that now stared them down. Momo’s hand went up to squeeze Rangiku’s wrist, a reminder not to be hasty.

“Vice Captains Kira of the Third Division, Hinamori of the Fifth Division, Hisagi of the Ninth Division, Matsumoto of the Tenth Division, and Kuchiki of the Thirteenth Division. You are here to explain the disturbing events that took place last night-- you may begin when asked, Lieutenant Kuchiki, not a moment before.” 

Rukia sealed her lips, hiding a clenched jaw behind them. 

The court hall was exactly as Izuru remembered it during his trial. A tower of arrogance, where the judges could sit on raised desks and look down their noses at the accused. Veils hid the judges’ faces, rendering every haughty old spectator indistinguishable from each other.

“Why were the five of you present on the Sixth Division grounds after working hours?” 

“Honored judges,” Rukia began unflinchingly. “When we learned that the Sixth Division had discovered evidence of treason, it was suspected that there would be an attempt to destroy that evidence.” 

“And the explosion that caused considerable damage to Gotei Thirteen property? Was this the supposed attempt?” 

Rukia’s swallowed before answering. “It was... intended as a countermeasure. We anticipated the enemy’s movements and set a trap for them; the explosion was intended to subdue the invaders and alert us to their location.” 

“Is that why four shinigami were slaughtered amist your ‘contingencies’?” 

Of course. Izuru knew they would try to twist the facts, as the Central 46 always did when things didn’t line up their way. 

He should have let Rukia continue speaking for them, but Izuru found his patience dwindling fast. “None of those individuals were killed by our hands.” 

“Yes, that’s right. Each of you claimed that the officers you pursued from the scene of the explosion killed themselves as soon as they were captured.” One of the judges boomed. “And to think you actually expect anyone to believe such a thing!” 

The image of it was still fresh in Izuru’s mind. The smell of smoke perfuming the night air when he arrived at the crater punched into the office wall. One body lay in the burning grass, their corpse charred beyond recognition. Stinking of gunpowder and cooked meat. 

Izuru saw three flee from the scene. One pursued by Rangiku and Shuuhei. One by Rukia and Hinamori. That left one to him. 

Sorrow dropped in Izuru’s heart when he cornered the masked figure, and watched them slide their sword against their own neck. He had been anticipating doing that himself. 

“Those officers triggered the trap set on the evidence, meaning that they were the ones trespassing on Sixth Division grounds after hours. They fled from the scene while wearing masks to conceal their identity; what choice did we have to pursue them?” 

Rukia nodded towards Izuru. The permission was given, and so Izuru reached into the front fold of his shihakusho to reveal his prize. Half of the porcelain mask, the flower cracked down the middle, was held for all to see in his gloved hand. He had pried it off the dead shinigami’s face and hidden it away. 

One of the judges slammed his hand on the desk. “You put that horrible thing away--”

“You have not been asked to present any evidence at this time, Lieutenant Kira,” Another judge interrupted. “You’re fortunate that a captain has vouched for your innocence, otherwise you would all be waiting out the duration of this investigation in containment cells.”

Now that… that actually threw Izuru for a loop. Who would take such a huge risk as to defend their motley crew in such incriminating circumstances?

An invisible signal was given to the two guards standing at the double doors. As they were pulled open, sunlight and fresh air filtered down the stairs and into the courtroom, and the figure outside was permitted to cross the threshold. 

“Captain Muguruma. You claimed to have been aware of the actions taken by these vice-captains.” 

Kensei stepped into the middle of the room, in front of Izuru and the other lieutenants, jaw set. The hall looked old and feeble around him. With his metal earrings, studded belt and shock of silver hair, the captain stood like a beam of steel against the natural wood colors of his primitive surroundings. 

Izuru heard Shuuhei exhale sharply next to him. But the visored’s eyes stayed forwards, unflinching. 

It was no secret that the visoreds hated Central 46, and the feeling was mutual. It was strange to think that not a single one of these judges was serving at the time that the visoreds were banished, and yet they seemed to take their return personally. 

The visored captains were mistakes-- more accurately, they were reminders of a mistake. Kensei, Mashiro, Shinji, and Rose even existing in Soul Society was a continual insult to Central 46’s principles. 

Izuru watched Kensei through narrowed eyes. He couldn’t even imagine what the captain could do to deter the judges’ ire. Maybe all of them would end up going to prison after all. 

Surprisingly, he was fine with that. Izuru had broken out of jail before. And if it brought him even a step closer to finding Renji, then why would he hold back?

At last, Kensei raised his arm. As if he was calling attention for an important announcement. 

“Let’s get this over with. Yes, the lieutenants came to me and I gave them my permission to guard the Sixth Division. Given recent events in that squad, I think the additional security was long overdue.” Kensei lied to the judges like it was nothing, sounding almost bored with the proceedings. “As it turned out, we were right. Too bad, if the Gotei had taken things a little more seriously from the get-go, we might have been able to take the intruders alive.” 

“So you also believe the attacks against the slain shinigami and the damages done were justified.” 

“Not slain. The lieutenants said they didn’t kill them, an’ I have no reason to doubt them.” Kensei snorted, then jabbed a thumb towards Shuuhei. “As for the damages-- my lieutenant was the one who set the bomb. As his superior I, of course, take full responsibility for his actions. If Kuchiki wants to discuss the situation with me, he’s free to do so.” 

A stunned silence stretched across the room, from both the judges and defendants alike. No one simply entered the Central 46 sanctum and spoke to them with such disrespect in their voice. Certainly, no shinigami did. 

Only a visored could. 

The voice of the judge was heavy with disapproval. “Believe us, Captain Muguruma. Your proximity to the situation has already been noted.” 

Izuru dared to glance over at Shuuhei. Those gray eyes were wide, a drain of pale sinking over his face. He looked, for the first time in a long time, visibly shaken.

Poor, sweet Shuuhei. In his heart of hearts, Izuru knew that Shuuhei was the one thing keeping him going right now. He was so insistent, so unflinching in his tenacity to find Renji no matter what it took, it actually made Izuru believe they had a real shot.

There was a cost for that strength, though. And Izuru could do nothing but watch Shuuhei work himself into the ground, eyes shadowed from sleepless nights and lips chapped from chewing on them anxiously. Izuru wanted to run his hands through Shuuhei’s unruly black hair and touch his sweet, tired face. 

He wasn’t looking forward to what they would do when they finally ran out of plans. It was only when Shuuhei was cornered and panicked that his controlled mask would fall away, and he would start to act rashly. 

“One last matter, Captain Muguruma. Since you seem to be so strongly invested in the goings-ons of the second command ranks, can you speak on the whereabouts of Vice-Captain Abarai Renji of the Sixth Division?”

A hot breath of air escaped Kensei’s nose. But other than that, he betrayed nothing. “No. I have no idea.”

“Very well then.” That voice was too satisfied with that answer. As if this was already known. “This court is dismissed. Though I would strongly advise all  _ six _ of you officers to remain in the Seireitei for the duration of this investigation.” 

Izuru heard the doors open once more, and felt his feet moving underneath him. He felt Rangiku’s hand slipping into his, and guiding him outside. 

Kensei’s face was always stern, but his brow weighed heavy with concern. He nodded at the group of them. “Well, come on. You guys have some explaining to do. And this time you’re gonna tell the truth.”

  
  
  


“Captain, I’m sorry--”

Kensei rolled his eyes. “Save it, Shuuhei. And get that kicked puppy expression off your face, it’s so annoying to see when I’m helping you!” 

Shuuhei’s somber expression changed to seething, and he grumbled in Izuru’s ear something about elderly captains being impossible. Despite himself, Izuru nearly smiled. 

There would be time for that later, though. They weren’t out of the woods yet. 

He expected Kensei to take them back to the Ninth Division, but it wasn’t Shuuhei’s squad that they stopped in front of. Momo looked up at the gray-haired captain, “Sir, why are we entering the Fifth?”

“Your captain is expecting us. And that stringbean’ll talk my ear off if I keep him waiting.” Kensei explained. 

Sure enough, Shinji was sitting on top of his desk when they walked into the captain’s office, one leg propped up and the other dangling down to the floor. 

“Wow,” he said when the six of them entered. “There’re even more of you guys involved in this than I thought. Hey, Hinamori.”

Momo waved weakly at her captain. “Hey.”

A shadow slid across the floor. Izuru looked towards the window and saw Rose sitting in the windowsill, balancing his zanpakuto in his lap as if it were as precious as his beloved guitar. Of course he would be here. If two visored captains were together, the third was sure to be close by. 

Izuru nodded at his captain, who returned the gesture. “I hope those brutes didn’t upset you, Izuru. Or bore you to death.”

“No more than expected.” 

“Alright, enough of that. We’ve got a brief window of time to talk before Kyoraku shows up an’ interrogates each of you himself, so let’s get down to business.” Shinji clapped. Despite his serious tone, his energy seemed almost excited. Eager. “Don’t think that just ‘cuz nobody’s talking about it, we haven’t noticed one of your little group is missing. The whole Gotei can see Abarai’s MIA, and that nobody’s doing anything about it.”

Izuru held back a sigh. He had hoped they would have a little more time. That if the Gotei wasn’t going to do anything to help Renji, they would at least mind their own business. He should have known that was too much to expect. 

“Then somebody scalps the Sixth Division right under Kuchiki’s nose, and now this whole exploding note trick.” Shinji’s long teeth showed as his lips peeled in a smile. “Gotta admit, the three of us are burning with curiosity. So let’s make a deal; you let us in on it, and we’ll keep Central 46 and Kyoraku off your back.” 

Izuru saw Rangiku move subtly, putting her hand on the small of Rukia’s back. Rukia looked down at the floor, then back up. “Okay.”

They let her explain things, starting with the appearance of the masked figures and ending with the decision to set a risky trap. Over the course of the retelling, Izuru was again forced to confront how much had happened in the span of the past week. 

It wasn’t fair. Hadn’t Renji been through enough these past several years? Hadn’t they all? Only for this to happen, to steal away their happy ending. Izuru had to wonder if anything they had done for the past two wars meant anything at all. 

“Izuru, dear.” 

Rose’s voice pulled Izuru back into the room. 

“May I see the mask?” 

His hand went to the fold of his robes where he had tucked the mask back into. He realized it was selfish, but part of Izuru wanted to say no. This was the best clue to finding Renji, and losing his grasp on it would be like taking a step further away from the man that Izuru loved. 

Izuru forced himself to take the mask out and hand it to his captain. Rose nodded, eyes full with appreciation, before looking at the porcelain with a frown of consideration.

“Well, it’s much less stylish than ours, that’s for sure.” Rose commented to Shinji and Kensei, neither of whom seemed to find the joke very funny. “I will say, though, I never thought I would see this terrible thing again. They always made that beautiful flower look so ugly.”

_ I never thought I would see this terrible thing again _ . 

Izuru remembered the one judge’s outburst in the court.  _ Put that horrible thing away. _ As if he recognized it. 

“You know what it means, then.”

“Unfortunately yes. Though the last time was about 200 years ago, I believe. Before we were even captains. Shinji had just become vice-captain at the time, isn’t that right?” Rose held the mask with his index finger and thumb as he showed it to his fellow visored, holding it as if it was something disgusting. 

“Yeah. They called themselves the Narcissus Order or something.” Shinji groaned. “A ‘political interest’ group supposedly concerned with preserving the traditions of the Seireitei and the noble families. Of course, the real buzz was how they were suspected of poisoning at least a dozen high-ranking officers who pushed the envelope of what the Order considered ‘acceptable’.” 

“Poisoning…”

Izuru’s stomach turned sour. The thought of poison always put a rotten taste in his mouth. 

“But why now? What about Abarai-kun? He isn’t--” Momo clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes beginning to glisten. 

“No.” Shinji decided. “If he was dead, they wouldn’t be hiding him. They’d wanna make an example t’ keep others like him in line. That’s probably not a comfort, but at least he’s alive.” 

“And now is the perfect time.” Rukia sighed, looking tired and sad. “The Blood War left Seireitei scared and vulnerable. With four vacant captains’ positions, the Gotei is weak. It’s an ideal opportunity for them to come out of hibernation to enforce their agenda.” 

“The Narcissus Order are shinigami, and they’re from multiple squads. Last night proved that.” Shuuhei breathed. “They’ve been here the whole time. Our allies, our subordinates. We can’t trust anyone.” 

“Don’t forget the Central 46,” Rangiku said grimly. “If they’ve been around for over 200 years, we have to assume they’re spread out throughout the Seireitei. Central 46 would be the perfect position for someone who wanted to re-shape Soul Society to their will.” 

“So then what do we do?”

“We could shut down.” Rukia sounded unsure. “Close the Gotei, have all officers confined to squad grounds. Whoever is keeping Renji will have to break the order in order to keep him contained.”

“But what about the World of the Living?” Momo protested. “If we keep all the shinigami here, hollows will swarm the human world. People will be killed.” 

“Then we’ll set another trap. Luring them into action worked the first time.”

“But they’ll be expecting that now, won’t they? They know we have eyes on them, but they still have the upper hand. And they’d sooner see us all in jail before they give up Renji.”

Izuru stared at his hands. This was turning into Aizen all over again, another stupid crisis that they all had to suffer through. He didn’t care about that. He wasn’t even sure he cared about a conspiracy within Soul Society. 

He only wanted to find Renji, and to kill whoever had taken him. That was all. 

Shinji bounced his leg against his desk. Izuru thought he didn’t look nearly as old as Kensei and Rose did, having a rather ridiculous face that rejected notions like age. But occasionally his years betrayed him. 

“I don’t like speaking for everyone, but I think we all knew this could happen again. Soul Society isn’t safe for anyone,” Shinji said. “We have to shut down. Investigate all officers, starting with the ones who come from noble families and own their own property. One of them could be keeping Abarai in their own homes.” 

Kensei grunted. “There are hundreds of officers in every division. Investigating them will take ages.” 

“We don’t need t’ investigate all of them. We just need to make a move that will put us ahead, and put the pressure on Narcissus to retaliate.” 

“That’s all well and good for our own divisions.” Rose cut in, sounding doubtful. “How will we convince the rest of the captains to cooperate, though?” 

A knock came at the door, and everyone froze still as statues. They weren’t discussing anything illegal, and yet there was the overwhelming sense that their intentions were somehow wrong. Treasonous. 

No, Izuru set his jaw. There were real, actual traitors out there. And they would pay. 

“Come in.”

The door opened, and Nanao stood on the other side. Her eyes were gray behind her spectacles, but her expression was unreadable.

“Excuse the intrusion.” She nodded respectfully. “The Captain-Commander would like to speak with each of you.”

* * *

  
  


To no one’s surprise, Rukia was called to meet with Kyoraku first. Anything that happened in Soul Society, good or bad, seemed to revolve around her, so Shuuhei thought it was a pretty logical decision to make. 

He watched the back of Rukia’s head as Nanao led her towards the First division. She had been their strength through all of this, staying level-headed even when concocting and scheming. Would she be able to use that same cool head and honesty to win over the Captain-Commander? Or would Rukia finally lose her temper?

Shuuhei felt rotten about it, but he hoped for the latter. 

“So now what?” Rangiku scowled at the sight of the two women growing more and more distant. “We sit and wait?” 

“Not at all. We have to start locking down our individual divisions right away, that will set a precedent to convince the rest of the squads to follow,” Shinji said. “The question is, d’you think you’d be able to convince Hitsugaya to follow our lead?”

“Uh.” She grimaced, brows pinched together and giving a laborious shrug. “... I honestly don’t know. I’ll do my best, but he can be pretty hard-headed.” 

“You’ll just have to be persistent. Alright, then let’s get to work.” Kensei turned towards the Ninth Division and motioned for Shuuhei to follow. “C’mon.”

Shuuhei’s feet instantly moved to follow, but he felt something pull at the back of his shihakusho. The gentle grip of Izuru’s hand called him back. He had been suspiciously quiet for a long time.

Well, it really was no question. “I’ll join you. I’m sure you and Kuna have things covered.” A beat of silence, a nagging thought. “Where  _ is _ Kuna, anyways?”

Kensei did not answer. “Don’t be long.” 

Well. Knowing Mashiro, Shuuhei would find out soon enough anyways. 

  
  


“Are they gonna stop letting us in here at some point? We’re suspects now.” 

“Shush. We’re being sneaky.”

Shuuhei hadn’t seen the damages done to the Sixth Division since that night. 

But in the daylight, the piles of rubble and shards of glass stood brazenly under the white sun. A crater stomped right into the middle of civilization.

A chill threatened to climb up Shuuhei’s spine. The crime scene looked like a condensed piece of what the Seireitei had looked like during the Blood War. 

Anxiously, Shuuhei checked around for guards. Byakuya wouldn’t be dull enough to leave his squad unattended in a situation like this, but perhaps without Renji around the officers were less organized. Returning here would be exactly the excuse that Central 46 needed to throw them away before they could do anything else.

Izuru didn’t appear to share Shuuhei’s concerns. He milled around piles of rubble, kicking debris. He resembled a long-legged ocean bird picking at the shoreline, searching for something only his precise vision could see.

“What are we looking for?”

“A piece of Renji.”

Shuuhei felt his throat go dry. He didn’t like the implications that statement put into his mind. “You think he was here?”

Izuru shook his head, facing away from Shuuhei. “No. Here, help me lift this up.”

Izuru put his hands underneath a large section of collapsed wall. And because he couldn’t simply say no, Shuuhei went to assist. Together, the stone was lifted and cast aside. Shuuhei nearly dropped it on his foot because Izuru quickly let go and crouched on the ground before where the boulder had lain. 

And when he stood back, Shuuhei could see why. 

A zanpakuto. Covered in white dust and ashes, yes, but not enough to blot out the dark blue wrapping around the hilt and distinctive lighting-bolt patterns etched across the guard. 

Izuru held the sword tenderly in his arms and looked down at it with a reverent expression, as if it was a newborn. A warm, familiar, not entirely comforting energy radiated off of the sheathed blade. Zabimaru knew it wasn’t her master that held her, but she allowed Izuru’s proximity anyways.

“How did you know it would be here?”

“I didn’t.” Izuru admitted. “But it wasn’t at home, and it wasn’t in Renji’s quarters. If Renji was unarmed when he was taken, then it would have to be in his office. We’re just lucky that it hadn’t been snatched up by the wrong hands.” 

“It was here the whole time.” Shuuhei held out his hands, and Izuru willingly placed Zabimaru into them. He looked at her, felt the zanpakuto’s weight against him, and wondered if she had been missing Renji, too. 

Izuru’s face was soft, almost refreshed as if he wasn’t running on fumes, caffeine, and wrath. But his eyes flickered to some movement behind Shuuhei’s head, and that dreamy expression dropped off his face. His face sharpened into a sneer. “Behind.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen! This is a restricted area.” 

Shuuhei slipped Zabimaru into his obi as if it was his own, holding it close to his hip. Kazeshini and Zabimaru both had blue hilts; a casual observer wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. 

A Sixth division officer approached them, and though his tone sounded amiable enough the look of the man had Shuuhei thinking twice. The bearded officer towered over the two lieutenants, broad shoulders beating back the sun. Catching sight of their badges, however, the officer gave a respectful bow. “I’m terribly sorry, lieutenants. I didn’t realize it was you. Can I help either of you boys?” 

“No, thank you. We were just hoping to assist with the investigation,” Shuuhei said easily. It was almost worrying how easy lying had become for him. Desperate times as such. 

Izuru tilted his head. “You’re a seated officer of the Sixth Division, yes?” 

The man beamed, and smile lines spread across his aged face. “That’s correct, Sir. Toyotomi Gensei, 3rd seat, at your service! Don’t be surprised if our good lieutenant never mentioned me, I prefer not to stand out much.” 

Something quite bizarre happened. Something alien, and yet… completely natural. Zabimaru rested against Shuuhei’s hip, his hand still protectively laying on her hilt. Suddenly, what felt like a jolt of electricity sparked where his skin touched the sword and raced up his arm. It burned in his spinal cord, a frantic energy that made the blood inside his body lurch. 

Izuru said something else to Toyotomi, along the lines of whether or not he noticed anything strange happening in the division over the past few weeks, but Shuuhei did not hear the rest of the conversation. 

Somehow, even as he just stood and stared, he was overwhelmed with the feeling that he was holding the leash of a dog that was snapping its fangs in rage. 

Shuuhei didn’t know how long he’d been quiet, what face he had been making as he stared into Toyotomi, but it was finally long enough to garner attention. 

“Lieutenant Hisagi, are you alright?” Toyotomi’s mouth was pressed into a frown but his eyes were completely flat. They did not reflect light or emotion or thought. Shuuhei felt panic like hundreds of spiders crawling up his throat.

Izuru’s voice, lower and softer, gave Shuuhei an anchor to hold onto. “Hisagi-san.” 

Shuuhei resisted the instinct to look down at Zabimaru, try to interrogate her for answers. It would do no good. Instead, he placed a firm hand on Izuru’s shoulder. 

“Toyotomi,” Shuuhei forced his voice to remain even. “Stick around moment, won’t you? Kira and I have some more questions we’d like to ask.”

Toyotomi smiled politely, but the strained lines around his lips told Shuuhei that his time was short. Unless he did something quick, Toyotomi would concoct an excuse to slip away and that would be over and done with. 

Shuuhei turned around so his back was facing the officer, so he could speak in Izuru’s ear without his lips being read.

Izuru’s eyes flashed. “What is it?”

“That was him.” Shuuhei whispered. In his mind, Zabimaru howled for vengeance. “That’s the man who attacked Renji.”

The words didn’t sound real in Shuuhei’s own mouth. And he was hit once again with how alien, how absurd this situation was. There hadn’t been room inside Shuuhei for grief since Tousen died. And now another huge, stupid, horribly  _ painful  _ event had interrupted his life.

What was Shuuhei to do, now that he had found the reason for that interruption? The person who had taken someone that Shuuhei loved away?

Izuru’s voice was cold. Dead. “You’re sure?”

Shuuhei squeezed his eyes shut. Of course, Izuru would have no second guesses. He knew what he wanted to do. “No, but Zabimaru is.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

“What makes you think we stand a chance against someone who took down Renji?” 

Izuru gave him a stabbing glare, hissing through grit teeth. “Then think of a plan, because right now our best shot is about to walk away.” 

Shuuhei’s own heartbeat pounded in his ears. What if this was the closest they came to finding Renji? What if this was a trap, and the only excuse that Central 46 needed to seal them in the Nest of Maggots? What if this only put Renji’s life at risk? He didn’t know. 

_ You know what you _ **_want_ ** _ to do _ . A voice in Shuuhei’s head admonished him.  _ If you weren’t a coward, you’d strike that man down here and now.  _

No. That was too good for someone like this. 

Toyotomi or the Narcissus Order or whatever they called themselves-- they slunk around in the shadows. They used cheap tricks and underhanded tactics, they were fueled by their hatred for what they didn’t understand. And they  _ did _ deserve to die.

But they wouldn’t be defeated through straight-forward attacks like ordinary enemies. They had to be crushed completely. 

Gensei’s voice reached him distantly. “I would really like to stick around and help the two of you out. But I’m afraid the captain expects me to finish patrols and return to my regular duties. Until Vice-captain Abarai returns I have my hands full filling in for him.” 

_ Rotten snake _ . Shuuhei felt venom curdle in his veins. Though not nearly as much as Izuru, whose voice was like sparks flying off of flint.

“You’re a third seat. Two lieutenants are asking for your compliance. You realize that refusal is an act of insubordination, yes?”

A look of shock flashed across Gensei’s face. Maybe he was used to fading into the background. Maybe he wasn’t expecting someone like Izuru to call his bluff. But then the surprise slid off his expression, and his smile turned smug. Cocky. 

“With all due respect, Sir, you’re not a lieutenant of  _ my _ division. I respect you as a high-ranking officer, but not as my superior.” 

“Then we have no choice but to take you in by force,” Izuru decided, and Shuuhei felt a flash of anxiety shoot through his skull. This wasn’t what he had planned on, but it was too late. 

There would be no going back after this.

  
  


* * *

Rukia was getting pretty sick of people expecting answers from her. Nobody ever wanted to listen to what she had to say until everything went wrong, then they suddenly wanted her to conjure explanations out of thin air. Was she supposed to just know everything because she and her friends were always targeted by megalomaniacs with god complexes? Was that supposed to be her choice?

“Thank you for joining me, Kuchiki-san.” Kyoraku said to her pleasantly. Most of Rukia’s memories of Kyoraku revolved around Ukitake, the mutual affection that their company provided each other. 

In those memories, Kyoraku’s voice was always calm and relaxed. These days, even when he was trying to be soothing, there was a strain in his tone. 

Rukia bowed her head stiffly. “With the utmost respect, Captain-Commander, I just gave my statement to Central 46. I don’t think I have any other information you would want from me.” 

She expected to meet with Kyoraku in the First division meeting hall, that huge room where all the captains had lined up to bicker with each other. Instead, Nanao had brought her to a separate room that may have been Kyoraku’s office, though it did not look very official. There was a low table with a tea set upon it, and Kyoraku relaxing, sitting on the ground to greet her. 

Nanao still stood at the door, her eyes on Rukia’s back. Why? It wasn’t like it made any sense for Rukia to run away. 

She was too nervous to pretend to politely sip her tea. 

“I have no doubt. But we all have to listen to things we don’t want to hear, don’t we?” Kyoraki stroked his short beard. “We both know that Central 46 is… flawed. These are the people whose friends and families were casualties of the Blood War. They never signed up to fight. You have to understand that they’re different from you and me.” 

Rukia said nothing. Kyoraku’s smile looked slightly pained, the creases in the lines of his smile deepened. 

“Where is our missing Abarai?”

“I don’t know,” Rukia replied. She inhaled before continuing. “We’ve been trying to figure that out on our own so that Renji wouldn’t get implicated in the Sixth division money theft.” 

Kyoraku tented his fingers against the table. His one eye bore into Rukia. “Where do you _ think  _ he is?”

“I  _ don’t know. _ ” Rukia reminded herself not to grind her teeth. “We believe he was kidnapped by the Narcissus Order.”

That actually made Kyoraku’s brows fly up his forehead. His knuckles tightened, gripping his fingers together like gears in a padlock. “That old urban legend?”

“Captain Hirako seems convinced that it’s real. And so do I, now that I’ve seen them myself.” 

“Lieutenant Kuchiki, these things don’t just happen. The Narcissus Order is a conspiracy theory that people invented to explain unpopular legislation or actions by the Gotei that they don’t agree with. You would need expansive funds and power to manipulate the Seireitei like that.”

Rukia gripped the folds of her hakama. “Aizen did it.”

“Aizen was...  _ special _ .” Kyoraku’s lips quirked as he said it, as if it almost amused him to say such a thing aloud. “And if Aizen’s forces and the Narcissus existed at the same time, wouldn’t they have collided against each other in their goals to control Soul Society?” 

“Maybe they weren’t ready yet. Maybe they did exist simultaneously, but had no idea about each other. Aizen didn’t know about the Wandereich, either.” Rukia pushed. “We have five lieutenants as witnesses that members of the Narcissus Order were attacking the Sixth Division.  _ And _ Hisagi, Kira and I witnessed the Narcissus stalking Renji. Isn’t that at least enough for probable causes for suspicions?”

“What course of action would you suggest?”

“The Narcissus are operating within all realms of the Gotei; that is their strength. But they must be gathering somewhere privately. Somewhere they could keep Renji subdued, probably outside the Seireitei.” 

Rukia watched steam rise off the tea cups, her eyes unable to penetrate the murky, green liquid. They had only been searching in the Seireitei because it had been convenient to start there. But outside those white walls, there were hundreds of miles of Rukongai that was mostly lawless. Renji could be anywhere in it. 

“We have to close Gotei operations, excluding emergency missions.” Rukia cleared her throat. “The Narcissus will try to leave Seireitei to meet up and keep watch on Renji.” 

“I’m sorry, but that’s not possible right now. I would have to declare a state of emergency, and that would put the entire Seireitei into a panic.”

Dread settled in Rukia’s heart at those words. The Captain-commander sounded deeply apologetic, but it did nothing to stop the coldness from spreading in Rukia’s stomach. 

“We’ll continue searching for Abarai, but right now there isn’t enough evidence to warrant emergency actions. But I’m sure we’ll dig up more clues that will lead us to the culprits.” 

“We might not have that much time!” Rukia blurted. Her knuckles turned white. This was like Byakuya all over again. Why did everyone bother talking at her if no one wanted to  _ listen?  _ “You’re saying you would rather risk sacrificing Renji in order to keep the peace?”

Kyoraku raised his hand in a pacifying gesture. “Lieutenant, I understand you’re upset. But Abarai knew the risk when he became a shinigami, just like we all did--” 

“Just-- stop.” Rukia squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart felt like it was pounding against her chest.

She wished, now more than ever, that Ukitake was here. He would convince Kyoraku to take Rukia seriously. He would care about saving Renji’s life. Renji, who was out there somewhere and waiting to be rescued! He wasn’t just some bargaining piece that Kyoraku could afford to put on hold. 

Rukia’s breathing slowed. Ukitake wasn’t here anymore. Just her. Rukia’s eyes went warm, and her vision began to swim.

“Please excuse my outburst, Captain-Commander. I think perhaps I should retire to my quarters and have some rest.”

A brisk flash of surprise crossed Kyoraku’s face, then smoothed itself over. Perhaps if Rukia were someone else, he would have pressed harder. Tried to pry his bony fingers into her skull and crack through to her brain so he could spill out her secrets.

But Rukia was the protege of Ukitake, and that made her special. More than that, she was a small, and a girl, and oh-so emotional, getting upset about one lieutenant.

Nanao was still watching by the door. Rukia had forgotten about her until she heard the bespectacled woman’s feet shifting uncomfortably. “Captain-commander…” 

“I understand.” Kyoraku stood up, leaning his weight against the table as he pulled himself to his feet. 

He circled the table to stand by Rukia, and put his hand on her shoulder. Kyoraku’s palm was warm, almost comforting, and in that moment Rukia really wished that she could trust him. She wished that he had died instead of Ukitake. 

“I apologize, Rukia.” How dare he use her name like that? How dare he try to be her friend now? “Please, take all the time you need. Nanao will walk you out.”

Nanao didn’t speak as she guided Rukia through the halls, back the way they had come and Rukia felt, amidst everything else, puzzled. Why had Kyoraku allowed Nanao to listen in on their meeting? She still couldn’t figure it.

It had always been rumored that the two were close, further proven by the fact that Nanao moved to the 1st division after Kyoraku became the Captain-commander. Yet he never sent her into battle on her own. He kept her watching. Observing. Rukia had felt it, that at the same time Kyoraku’s one eye studied her face from the front, Nanao’s gaze was drilling the back of her head from behind. 

Maybe she knew something. Maybe, lieutenant-to-lieutenant, Rukia could still reach her. 

“Do you believe him?” Rukia asked abruptly, bringing their walk to a grinding halt. “About the Narcissus Order being a legend. About me and the others just making up what we saw?”

“It’s not my place to make assumptions.”

“It’s your place to analyze the situation to make well-informed decisions.” 

Nanao sighed, her brows pinched with annoyance. “Please appreciate that this isn’t as easy for everyone as it is for you. Some of us have to look at the bigger picture.” 

Rukia opened her mouth to retort, but cut herself off. Though Narcissus obviously posed a threat to a large population of people, Rukia couldn’t lie and say that she didn’t have a personal stake. 

That wasn’t exactly a bad thing though, was it? ‘The bigger picture’ wasn’t the reason that Rukia’s friends came together to rescue her, was it? It was personal, and everyone joined in as soon as it matched their own needs. Otherwise they would have been fine to let her die.

Nanao opened the swinging door to the First’s courtyard. “Thank you for taking the time to speak with the Captain-Commander today, Lieutenant Kuchiki. We will let you know if anything develops.” 

“Sure.” 

The Sun slipped down the sky, just beginning its descent into the horizon. Rukia’s view of the sunset was marred by the Senzaikyū bisecting the sky. Rukia cupped her hand over her eyes as she looked up. Was Renji looking at the same sky right now?

_ Don’t give up, Renji. _

Every day, shinigami left and returned to Soul Society. Rukia had become accustomed to the little twinges of spiritual pressure pulsing across the Seireitei, letting it become background sound. The opening of the Senkaimon was as distant as the shadow of a bird passing it over her head. 

This time, however, when the Senkaimon opened miles away Rukia felt a rumble travel up her spine. There was a familiar flood of spiritual energy hitting her like a warm summer breeze.

For the first time in a while, Rukia felt a grin pull at her cheeks. She took off running towards the senkaimon, and the warm rush of nostalgia that it gave her. 

For the first time in over a year, Ichigo was back in Soul Society.

  
  


“Ichigo!” 

Neither of them were really ‘huggers’, but occasions like this were an exception. Rukia ran right into him, and felt the substitute’s arms crush her and lift her off the ground. 

Those mere seconds seemed to stretch on forever. It all came flooding back to Rukia-- the memories of hiding in the World of the Living and pretending to be a human teenager, making friends with people she initially thought she had nothing in common with. Being rescued, and discovering the will to survive.

Then Ichigo set her back on the ground. His toothy, cocky grin shifted into a scathing scowl. “You said you were going to visit more!”

“I know. I’m sorry it’s just--” Rukia waved at the air with frustration. “It’s been. A lot right now. How are the others?”

“They’re fine. On stand-by right now, taking care of the city. Karakura is still a hotbed of spirits and monsters, as usual. Keeps everyone busy, on top of school and work and everything else.”

Ikkaku and Yumichika stepped out of the Senkaimon as well. Rukia was gladder than ever that she had asked them to get Ichigo when she did. Considering the events of today, neither she nor the others would have been permitted to go to the World of the Living.

“We caught Kurosaki up as much as we could on the way.” Yumichika toyed with his feathers and looked apologetic. “Though I suppose things have changed now. How did your ‘plan’ go? What did Kuchiki’s face look like?”

Rukia saw Ichigo’s frown deepen and soften with genuine grief. Ichigo was protective by nature, and Rukia certainly could only imagine how he reacted to the news that Renji was in danger. 

Renji was so eager to throw his support behind Ichigo. To defend him and their other human friends, almost like a big brother. Rukia almost smiled from the thought of how mortified Renji would be right now to know that Ichigo was the one fretting over _ him _ . 

Ikkaku clapped Ichigo on the shoulder, and looked to Rukia with serious, intense eyes. “So what happened? Any words on Renji?” 

Reflexively, Rukia cast a look over her shoulder. As if she was expecting Kyoraku to be looming there, in the distance of her shadow. Would he be watching her now? Shinji said that the visoreds would try to keep him and Central 46 from interfering, but what about the other captains?

“No, not yet. Actually, things have gotten even more complicated,” Rukia admitted. “Let’s go somewhere private, and I’ll catch you guys up.”

Then she could make a plan. Another plan.

* * *

  
  


Rangiku may have been overestimating herself a little when she said she could change her captain’s mind. That was the nature of their relationship. Of Rangiku’s entire dynamic, really.

Shinigami saw horrible things. They were constant observers of death and suffering. To cope, you either let the agony eat away at you, or you distanced yourself altogether. 

Rangiku could only do her part to make sure that did not happen. If she could add a bit of levity in her friends’ lives and keep them above that pit of despair, that was good enough for her. Sew a little bit of harmless mischief, stir in a sprinkle of chaos, and in the end everyone was better for the distraction. 

Toshiro was no exception, and she paid special attention to making sure he had that breathing room. Rangiku had known him from the beginning, from the moment she had discovered his raw and untapped power. She planted him and watched his roots spread in the soil. That was why it was important to support him as his subordinate; he couldn’t grow as a leader unless he made his own decisions. 

Mostly, Rangiku liked it that way. She liked the process of cultivating him, gardening this remarkable power and watching Toshiro grow. It made her feel powerful.

(She thought, once, that Gin would be that way. He went to Seireitei for her. He grew strong for her. Rangiku wanted to mold that strength into something that terrified her a little less.)

“It’s not possible, Matsumoto.”

“Why not? Because you don’t want to?”

But Toshiro could be a stubborn boy. Awfully sensitive to how others around him perceived his age and appearance, Rangiku should have expected that he wouldn’t want to make hasty decisions. He gave her a hard look that was years older than his face. 

“We can’t lock down until the First Division issues a state of emergency. If we stop running missions, then we’re putting human souls at risk.” 

“I’m not saying we should shut down  _ all  _ functions.” Rangiku put her hands on her hips. She was used to Toshiro shooting her down. He didn’t like to be challenged by anybody, so Rangiku had to dig her heels in the dirt. “But we need to investigate all our officers.” 

“Matsumoto, these are your own subordinates we’re talking about. They fought alongside us during the Blood War. They don’t deserve to be treated like enemies.”

“Neither did Aizen,” Rangiku said. “Looks aren’t always what they seem.”

Toshiro looked away from her, his brows pinched together in frustration and his shoulders stiffened at his neck. Rangiku knew that was a low blow, her captain still felt Aizen’s presence on his shoulders, as well as the resounding guilt of Momo’s trauma. 

That was his prerogative. Not everyone had the luxury of wallowing in the past.

“You’re absolutely convinced, then, that Abarai didn’t steal from the 6th Division and desert? He does have a precedent for disobeying the Gotei…” Toshiro murmured, almost as if he were musing to himself. “And you can’t say he doesn’t have a reason to antagonize Kuchiki.”

He was pressing her, testing for a reaction. Under different circumstances, Rangiku might leave her argument at that and let her captain have the final word. 

But if she stood her ground, if she drew her line in the sand, then it wouldn’t matter what Toshiro decided. 

“Renji is a victim,” Rangiku insisted. “And he won’t be the last, unless we crack down on the Narcissus Order. The Third, Fifth, Ninth and Thirteenth are all enforcing lockdown. I think that’s enough to constitute a trend that the other squads might follow.”

He was quiet for a while. Rangiku could practically hear the gears churning in his head.

“This will be a massive undertaking. We would have to reassemble our patrol system, and enforce a curfew. And if we’re really serious about this, then we’ll need to review each individual member of the 10th division for potentially suspicious behaviors. It could take years.”

“Better than another war.” Rangiku tossed her hair over her shoulder. Though really she knew it wouldn’t take that long. Once they found Renji, the Narcissus would come out of the woodwork and things would work themselves out. Hopefully. 

“Fine.” Toshiro’s voice sounded burdened. Rangiku held in her own flood of relief-- now all she had to do was make sure he didn’t change his mind. “But since you’re so concerned with security, I’m expecting you to decide which officers will be assigned to guard duty and how those shifts will rotate.”

“Yes, Sir.” Rangiku smiled smugly. What was a little more paperwork to do?

* * *

  
  


Izuru was not a fighter by nature. The only reason he had enrolled in Shin’o Academy was because he had nowhere else to go. The Kira family tree had dwindled into obscurity, one strike of bad luck following another and piling up until only he was left. 

His parents had died when Izuru was quite young. And, as if anticipating their early graves, had left behind a small fortune so Izuru could remain comfortable and safe. 

That fortune finally ran out when he was a teenager. 

Izuru had no marketable skills, no talents other than reading and scribbling little haikus down in his private journals. And the Gotei promised a career of adventure and glory.

Izuru had been a dreamy, sweet-faced child with no concept of what it was like to suffer. Not yet, anyway. He thought that glory would taste like drops of golden honey on his tongue. 

He was wrong. It just tasted like death. 

Everyone thought that Izuru had a negative outlook, just because he didn’t see combat as a spurious, healthy competition between two respected equals. They thought that because he hated fighting, that automatically made him a weak fighter. 

They were wrong, though. Izuru was strong because he knew exactly how terrible fighting could be.

He knew that Gensei would move back when Izuru lunged forwards. That was the natural pull of battle, to retreat when pushed and the rear back for the counter. 

But Izuru also expected Gensei to stay on the defensive. After all, going against two lieutenants, one who was armed, he had the battle foolishly stacked against him.

Gensei apparently disagreed. As his feet skid against the dirt, his arm reared back like the wind-up for a pitch. And when he opened his palm, an arc of blue fire leapt from his hand. 

Izuru barely had time to raise a barrier, but the kidou spell hit with a force that nearly shattered his counter-spell instantly, and Izuru was forced to abandon the barrier before the fire burned right through it. 

“Please excuse me, vice-captains,” Gensei’s voice turned sharp and malicious, dripping with venom. “You surprised me!” 

Izuru recovered, coming to stand steadily on his feet, but he had a grim prediction about this battle. 

A sōkatsui spell without incantation was something expected of a captain-class. 

But Izuru wasn’t a fool. He could give as well as he got, and he could certainly fight fire with fire.  _ “Hadō #54. Haien.” _

An arc of purple fire swept over the courtyard, singing all the beautiful hedges and blooms in a violent blaze and rendering them a dead brown. However, it was a clumsy and easy sweep of flames, and it was no surprise that Gensei would disappear from the blast of fire. 

And it was clear to Izuru, as well, that Shuuhei would have snuck around Gensei’s back while he was preoccupied, a shadow descending over the battlefield. Before he could even attempt another escape, Shuuhei had drawn Zabimaru and pressed the edge of the blade to Gensei’s throat. 

“Feeling more cooperative now?”

“Oh my.” Gensei sighed. “How clumsy of me.” 

Any elation Izuru felt, however, was short-lived. He should have known-- and indeed, perhaps he did know, that as long as they were on Sixth Division grounds, they may as well have been in enemy territory. 

He could hear the rest of Gensei’s patrol group fast approaching.

It was all Izuru’s fault. He had been too hasty. Too angry. He should have listened when Shuuhei said they needed to wait, instead of pulling him further into chaos. Because now the Sixth Division was here to witness the two shinigami who blew up their grounds the previous night now holding their 3rd seat at sword-point. 

“Please, Lieutenant! Release me!” Gensei sporadically thrashed in Shuuhei’s grip, his skin coming dangerously close to Zabimaru’s teeth. He wailed pitifully, as if a man on the brink of death. 

Several of the officers raised their weapons. Among the crowd, Izuru could see the familiar, fearful face of Rikichi, looking pale and anxious. 

“Lower your weapon, Lieutenant Hisagi.”

Shuuhei acquiesced, removing the sharp steel from Gensei’s neck. As soon as he did, Gensei collapsed to the ground, curling inwards as if covering a terrible, previously unseen wound. The throngs of shinigami gasped and murmured, naive as cattle. 

“Call reinforcements from the Second Division. We need the Punishment Corps on the scene.”

“Calm down.” Shuuhei spoke to the crowd sternly. He hadn’t let go of Zabimaru yet, his hands up but not yet willing to drop the zanpakuto. “You’re being deceived. This man--” 

Shuuhei was cut off by the sound of Gensei wailing, almost sobbing pathetically on the ground. Izuru grimaced at the sound.  _ At least pretend to have some pride _ . 

A few members of the crowd did recoil when Gensei pulled himself to his knees, and there was blood dripping down the front of his shihakusho. Shuuhei blanched as he stood over him, watching the man bleed onto the grass, even as the sword in his hand was spotlessly clean. 

Izuru felt dread pierce his heart. Gensei must have cut himself with a concealed weapon.

“Lieutenant Kira, we ask you to step away.” One of Renji’s officers brandished a halberd at them, the traditional weapon of shinigami assigned to guard duty. There were chains around his waist for subduing potential threats. “Lieutenant Hisagi, drop your weapon.” 

Didn’t this feel familiar? The old Izuru might have been tempted to give up. Maybe even the old Shuuhei. Even if they stood their ground here, Captain Soi Fon would put them down without hesitation. Then it would be a stint in jail while awaiting trial,  _ at best _ , all the while Renji remained out of their reach.

Izuru looked to Shuuhei, waiting for guidance. He had pushed Shuuhei into this position and now they were paying for it, so Izuru wouldn’t make that mistake again. This time he was asking for permission.

Sometimes Shuuhei seemed passive. Like Izuru, he preferred to fight with words instead of weapons. Sometimes he seemed gentle. Sometimes he even seemed docile. 

But something that Shuuhei wasn’t was unprepared. In his steel-slate eyes, hard with determination, Izuru knew that Shuuhei had seen this coming for a long time. 

Shuuhei’s gaze met Izuru’s, and he nodded. Permission was given. 

Shuuhei raised Zabimaru as the loyal army of the Sixth Division brandished their own weapons. 

With their eyes fixed on Shuuhei, they didn’t at all see Izuru drop to his knee and slam his palms down on the ground, raising a wall of blinding white light separating the two shinigami from the crowd. 

Then they would attack, the halberds striking against the barrier. And it would shatter. And when it did, Izuru and Shuuhei would already have disappeared from sight.

* * *

_ ‘What follows is an emergency warning to all squads of the Gotei 13, issued by the office of the Sixth Division.  _

_ Henceforth, Lieutenant Hisagi Shuuhei of the Ninth Division and Lieutenant Kira Izuru of the Third Division are wanted for questioning on allegations of assaulting a Gotei officer, as well as for probable involvement in the case of desertion by Lieutenant Abarai Renji.  _

_ Lieutenant Hisagi and Lieutenant Kira are asked to turn themselves in for interrogation and to await trial by the Central 46. Refusal to comply will result in physical enforcement to the full extent of the Gotei 13’s force.  _

_ Individuals with information on the whereabouts of the Lieutenants in question are required to report intel to the Punishment Corps. Future updates will follow.’ _

  
  


The Hell Butterfly twitched, its black legs fidgeting mechanically as it crawled across Byakuya’s desk. The voice that came from it was warped and alien-sounded, as if there had been interference or background noise during the initial announcement. 

Byakuya watched the butterfly’s wings expand and contract. Dozens of its brethren must have carried its message across the Seireitei by now. 

“I did not authorize this message.” 

Standing before his captain’s desk, Third Seat Toyotomi Gensei bowed dutifully. The gap of bare skin between his throat and his shihakusho was covered in bandages, keeping pressure on his wound. 

“My apologies, Captain. I confess, I don’t know who sent the message, but I intend to find out.” 

The man stood back up to his full height. Was it only Byakuya’s imagination, or did Toyotomi seem… different? According to his memory, Toyotomi had always been a large man, but not physically imposing in the same way that Renji was. Now, the Third Seat’s shoulders seemed broader. He stood taller. 

Renji had once accused Byakuya of not paying enough attention to his subordinates, and they hadn’t discussed that comment even once since then. Byakuya honed his focus, tried to remember how Toyotomi had looked before, but for some reason the harder he tried to think on it the more his memories seemed clouded. 

Gensei still radiated humility, though, his hands folded in front of him. “With all due respect, Captain, is the message incorrect? Not to overstate my own importance, but I rather experienced the brunt of Lieutenant Hisagi’s unpredictability. Isn’t it appropriate to assume the lieutenants might be dangerous to other officers?” 

“That’s not for you to decide,” Byakuya answered automatically. He wished that Renji were here. He was so much better at talking to the officers. He spoke to them franky, even bluntly, but he was always honest. 

Byakuya stood up, and rubbed his hand over the surface of his desk in a way that almost betrayed his nervousness. 

“Get some rest, Toyotomi. You are relieved of duty until your wound is recovered.”

Gensei smiled meekly. Byakuya had known this man longer than he had known most of the other captains. Almost since childhood, even. “Sir, that’s not necessary. I assure you, I’m fit as a fiddle--”

“No,” Byakuya pressed. “It would be better for you to heal first. That will be all, officer.”

With a last look of submissive reluctance, Gensei bowed again and backed out of the room. Byakuya looked back down to the Hell Butterfly, idly flapping its wings in the sunlight that flooded in from the office window. 

In a moment of insect inspiration, it hopped off of Byakuya’s desk and into the air. It fluttered, bouncing up and down mid-flight before landing on the other side of the room, on the empty chair behind Renji’s desk. Its wings shone iridescent blue and green in the streaks of light. 

How the hell had they gotten here? What had he done wrong for things to end up this way? 

Was it giving in to Rukia’s outlandish request? How was Byakuya meant to know she would get Hisagi to plant one of his explosive devices on the letter? 

Or had Rukia been right, and the fault was in Byakuya for not searching for Renji sooner? At the time, he had been angry at Renji for making everyone’s lives difficult by going missing. Even through the most impossible scenarios, Renji always came back on his own. The possibility that he would vanish simply resisted reality. 

Or had it been even earlier than that? Had Byakuya relied too much on Renji? A loyal lieutenant, the heat to Byakuya’s coldness. Imposing to his enemies, docile to his superiors. Renji was the perfect attack dog for the Gotei-- for  _ Byakuya  _ to sic on his enemies and then obediently come back when he was called.

Byakuya held out his hand and called the butterfly to land on his outstretched fingertips. With a mere thought, the captain erased the pre-recorded message from it’s memory bank and began to write a new announcement. 

The very least he could do, now, was try to contain the damage that was done. 

But he knew that it was already too late for that.

  
  


* * *

When the announcement ended, Rukia was tempted to crush the Hell Butterfly in her palm. Such anger was unlike her, but she wanted for something to do to purge this nervous energy. It felt like she couldn’t do anything except stand there and be furious. 

Ichigo had been listening to the message with her, and when it ended he looked dour-faced and grim. “We have to find Hisagi and Kira before anyone else does.” He said right away.

“You believe they’re innocent, then? You don’t even know them.” 

Rukia spoke without really thinking, but Ichigo shrugged without any offence. 

“I know them enough.”

Rukia forgot sometimes-- the Gotei was an institution she had known her entire life, and that tried to train her into respecting it. Ichigo’s first introduction to the Gotei had been a close-up on its worst side. Substitute Shinigami or otherwise, Ichigo had no reason to trust the law. 

“They won’t get caught anyways.” Rukia decided, and hoped she wasn’t being arrogant in that claim. No pressure or anything, guys. She ran her nails over the crimson wrapping around Sode no Shirayuki’s hilt strapped to her hip. What now?

A short, loud knocking came on the door. Ichigo reached for Zangetsu instinctively, but lowered his hand when he realized what he was doing. Rukia turned to face the door. “Come in.” 

On the other side, Sentaro slid the door open and bowed at Rukia respectfully. “Lieutenant, all non-essential functions of the Thirteenth Division have been closed down, as you instructed. Officers are forbidden from leaving the Seireitei until further notice.”

“Good. Thank you.” Rukia held in a burdened sigh. Once again, they were reduced to just provoking their enemies. But at least this way, they might squeeze some answers out when forcing the Narcissus agents into a corner. 

“Though, on that note…” Sentaro looked reluctant, eyes drawn to the ground. “Ninth Seat Masao was scheduled for patrol today, but never reported in. No one has seen him since last night.”

Ichigo looked at Rukia, complete deference. It was becoming concerning how quickly Rukia was getting used to being the person in the room everyone looked to for orders. 

Rukia didn’t want to be that person, but what she wanted wasn’t the point right now. 

“Search his office. Report anything suspicious.” Rukia decided. “Ichigo and I will check his quarters.”

Was this the right thing to do? Wasn’t this a violation of privacy? But Sentaro just nodded, like this was exactly what he expected. 

“Yes, Sir!” 

That left Rukia and Ichigo to do the rest of the investigation themselves. Ichigo gestured towards the hall. “Alright, Madam Lieutenant. Lead the way.”

* * *

  
  


Kazeshini and Wabisuke sat in their stands, pressed against the wall. There was an empty stand next to them that Zabimaru had been absent from. There they slumbered, Kazeshini temporarily distracted from his bloodlust, Wabisuke lost and wandering the universe of his dreams. 

They would wake up sometimes, and wonder where she was. Zanpakuto do not traditionally ‘love’ the way that their masters can. They are the part of their shinigami’s soul that wishes to destroy. They are the killing intent. They long to eat each other whole. 

But they know her. Wabisuke is familiar with Zabimaru’s temper and delights in teasing her, reaching out with his presence and tempting her to snap at him. Kazeshini’s cold rage pushes against Zabimaru’s ceaseless passion. 

They do not love each other. But, at least, they like each other. They are packmates. Family. 

They sensed when their masters returned home, and they sensed when one of them brought Zabimaru back to their den. But Zabimaru’s master did not accompany her. She was abandoned. Orphaned.

Wabisuke felt the fury and the pain that rolled off of Izuru, and sang a mournful song that didn’t reach his ears. It had been a long time since he felt this, his master’s sharpened determination to hurt someone.

Kazeshini futilely hoped to sense the same rage in his own wielder. But Shuuhei’s head was too full of plans and counter-plans to squeeze in anger. He was already ten steps ahead of where he stood.

He held Zabimaru as he paced in frustration. She roared so loud that even Kazeshini recoiled from her anguish. 

The two shinigami decided their next moves, their zanpakuto listened eagerly for promises of battle. They decided they must go to their allies immediately, all the while avoiding detection. They will tell the others about Renji’s kidnapper, a man named Gensei, and align to ambush him and force Renji’s location out of him through any means necessary.

Wabisuke was amused by this simple, optimistic plan. If this Gensei had any sense he would be hundreds of miles away by now. Renji was as good as lost. 

Kazeshini thought this was boring and stupid. If the two lieutenants hadn’t been afraid to kill a few of the Sixth Division officers, they might have taken Gensei back with them. Idiots. 

They smelled smoke. It came unexpectedly; none of them sensed anyone approaching their secluded cabin but, that didn’t mean that no one was outside. Shuuhei and Izuru looked at each other, their faces are mirrors of fear. 

They armed themselves. The zanpakuto are elated. They hunger. 

The shinigami go outside, ready to finally face down their opponents. But the Narcissus do not allow themselves to be found. Not yet. 

Meanwhile, the flames of revenge are already climbing up the walls. The fire swallows all; belongings, memories, treasures. The humble gatherings of a life full of love is rendered cheap kindling. 

Thoughts of chasing down the arsonists are temporarily abandoned. The house has to be saved. The symbol of their relationship, the nest of their safety and protection for each other. 

But it will not matter what they do. The house will be gone by morning. 

* * *

  
  


Hours burned. The rosy glow of the dawn was smeared gray with ash. 

Shuuhei knew he was selfish. But he was selfish in a very small way, and he was selfish for small things. 

The first sip of freshly brewed coffee in the morning. Running his fingers over his face after a clean shave. A word of approval from someone he admired. These earthly, simple pleasures felt like treasures that Shuuhei hoarded greedily.

(If he really wanted to put on his Existential Crisis face, Shuuhei would say it was because he always expected his happiness to leave him unexpectedly. Like a dark shadow passing over the sky, at any minute all the negative thoughts lurking in the corners of his mind could steal away his passion for life. These small, physical pleasures were something to hold onto. The only things that were good as well as real.)

((And if he was wearing his Existential Crisis face while really, really drunk, Shuuhei might say it was because he never got attention from his father and now he projected that yearning onto everything around him, including two surrogate father figures that ended up doubling the list of patriarchal issues he had. But Shuuhei didn’t believe in psychology, so that’s neither here nor there))

The house was the largest of his small happiness. He took his love and hid it inside the house, and inside the things inside the house. The quilt that he purchased at an open-air market and laid out on their bed. The porcelain measuring bowls that Shuuhei purchased because the design was pretty, and he thought about that when he cooked every dinner for his loves. 

A few hours was all it took for Shuuhei’s big small happiness to crumble into a pile of ashes. Soot was smeared all over his hands. Smoke coated the inside of his throat and stung his eyes. 

And yet, part of Shuuhei still thought; it served him right. He shouldn’t have loved so big. 

Izuru had tried to control the flames with kidou wind, but it hadn’t been enough. His blue eyes were red from the sting of smoke. They looked dry and heavy when Izuru looked at Shuuhei, gray smeared across his cheeks. 

“Shuuhei…” 

One of Shuuhei’s measuring cups sat on the ground, shattered from the heat. His throat was dry and tight, and it wasn’t just for smoke. All this time, they had been focused on bringing Renji home. Now, they were no closer to finding Renji and there wasn’t even a home to come back to. 

It was too much. Shuuhei crouched down on his heels and buried his face in his hands. Tears stung his eyes. He hadn’t cried since Tousen, he stuffed that urge down where it couldn't threaten him. But the entire week welled up inside of him and finally spilled over. 

He heard the gentle shifting of Izuru sitting down behind him, then the gentle pressure of him laying his body against Shuuhei’s back. Izuru’s thin arms circled Shuuhei’s waist, his soft cheek pressed against Shuuhei’s neck. 

Despite his sadness and frustration, Shuuhei felt a sense of peace begin to radiate inside him. Izuru’s breath tickled his skin, the cool touch of his body was an anchor. They were mourning together. Tied in their grief. 

Shuuhei took one last, huge, shuddering breath inwards. Standing up felt like the most exhausting task in the universe, but at last he straightened and stood up over the piles of burnt wood. Izuru looked up at him, his forehead leaning against Shuuhei’s thigh.

“Shuuhei?” He repeated. 

“I’m fine now.” Shuuhei said, and offered his hand for Izuru to hold. The blond entwined his long fingers between Shuuhei’s and squeezed his palm. 

“Really?”

“No, but I’m better. C’mon. We need to find Rukia.”

Izuru let himself be pulled to stand, but he hovered close to Shuuhei’s side. He continued to grasp Shuuhei’s hand. They held each other and missed their third. 

  
  
  
  



	7. Newborn

Meticulousness didn’t suit Renji. Carefulness didn’t suit him. What suited Renji was bashing himself at the problem until he had beaten it down, brutal and violent. But Renji was amazed with what he could do when literally everything was on the line. He could grit his teeth and shut down the instincts within him that told him to move fast and hit hard. 

No, if he wanted to do this, he would only get to do it once. And that meant taking his time, and enduring his situation a little longer.

Perhaps after spending days inside one little room, he was more sensitive to changes in his environment. Renji could keep track of how time passed in the brief windows he was allowed outside on trips to the bathroom. Gensei or one of his underlings would come in a little after dawn to bring Renji his breakfast before letting him go upstairs. Then after bringing him back down they would leave him for a few lonely hours until lunchtime. Sometimes Gensei would come down with more water for Renji to wash with in the tub, otherwise Renji was alone until sunset. 

All this considered, Renji’s best window of opportunity would be after his final bathroom break, in the middle of the night. That should give him about six hours alone until sunrise. Enough time for Renji to get to… somewhere. Anywhere. It didn’t matter, as long as it wasn’t here. 

He had never done this before-- observing quietly, being patient, trying to think five steps ahead. Renji hated being alone with his thoughts, all those little doubts and self-criticisms buzzing around in his head. He usually tried to drown them out, keep himself focused so that he never had time to think too much. 

Now he had no choice but to sit and think, no matter how uncomfortable it was. And from within that discomfort, a plan began to bud. 

The reeds woven into Renji’s pallet were thick and dry. A firm and cheap cushion that was just springy enough not to break Renji’s back from sleeping on it. The edges of the reeds bit Renji’s skin when he hooked his fingers and pulled them apart, fishing for individual, long blades of grass. 

This part, also, he needed to be cautious and methodical about. And with this, also, he struggled. Renji would have only a few hours at a time to work, and that was assuming that no one would come down unexpectedly to check on him. He would need an ample collection of reeds, but not so much that it was obvious he was picking apart his bedding. 

Small blessings revealed themselves. Renji had gotten used to being left in the dark and the silence, he could now hear the footsteps approaching the trap door long before it was lifted. 

Renji’s heart raced inside his chest, he quickly shoved fistfuls of reeds under his pillow and threw the sheet back over the pallet. He pulled the quilt over his body and faced the wall, and by the time quiet steps were coming down his stairs, Renji was laying still as if he had been sound asleep. 

_ Don’t talk to me. Just check up on me and leave, _ Renji waited, hoping to hear the creaking of the stairs being climbed back up. Waiting to be left alone once more. 

“Renji-kun, are you awake?” Gensei sing-songed, and Renji for the millionth time fought the urge to smother himself with his pillow until he passed out. If only Gensei would finally bite his own tongue off from talking so much. “You are, aren’t you? It’s good you’re getting so much rest, and you’ve been eating all of your meals too! Those injuries should heal up nicely.” 

Renji gave no response. He had no patience for Gensei’s condescending kindness or veiled taunts. Mostly, Renji was disappointed that he was getting used to this, being talked down to like a pet. 

He heard Gensei sit down beside where he lay. “Thought you might still be hungry, I brought you some oranges as a treat! Won’t you try some?”

Gensei’s voice loomed, obnoxiously present. If only he would just go away, give Renji a few more hours alone. Renji pulled his limbs tighter towards his body, spine curling inwards in the futile attempt to announce he was not in the mood for company. 

“No? Suit yourself. But you’re missing out, Renji-kun.” 

There was the sound of hands tearing thick fruit skin apart, and the pop of citrus smell lifting the stale air. Renji made a sour face at the wall as he was subjected to the wet noise of Gensei chewing on fruit flesh next to his ear. 

“You’re still upset, aren’t you? About the whole unpleasant discussion of murder. I must admit, I’m surprised-- given your track record of battle, I wouldn’t expect you to be so sensitive.” 

Renji’s knuckles tightened their grip on the pillow. He hated Gensei. He hated the smell of him and his fruit. The sound of his voice. The feeling of his eyes on the back of Renji’s neck, where his hair fell away to reveal an exposed stretch of skin.

“I would like it if you could look at the silver lining for once. You’re much safer in here than you are out there, with the Punishment Corps sniffing around for you now,” Gensei said. “Renji-kun, can I tell you a secret?”

_ Oh, if you insist. _ Renji rolled his eyes.  _ Do tell! _

“You asked a few times why you were still alive. And I told you that we didn’t want anyone of importance to find your body too soon. I should probably admit that I was stretching the truth. You’ve seen the woods around this place, you probably guessed that we’re miles away from the Seireitei or anyone who could find you. We could just bury you six feet deep, and you’d disappear for good.” 

Renji’s own breathing was hot in his ear. If he let his imagination wander too far away, he could almost feel the dirt on his skin, rising up around him as Renji’s body sank down to the earth. The pressure of his own grave squeezing in on him. 

Gensei was noisily licking orange juice off his fingers now. “Have you gone out during the summer to watch the fireflies, Renji-kun? They’re really stunning. Like a sky full of stars, but so close you can touch them. It’s magical.”

Catching fireflies with Rukia when they were children. Watching the stars from the roof of his house. Fresh air. Freedom. Yes, Renji remembered. 

“There’s really no other creatures quite like them, spreading their light so freely and boldly. And they’re brave, too. They aren’t afraid of humans, even though we’re so much bigger than them. If you’re patient, fireflies will come right up and land on your hand.” 

A hand was touching Renji’s spine. Instantly finding the exact center where the bone jutted out of the skin. Renji stifled a shudder. 

“But that light is so deceptively fragile. I must admit, I was always the kid who killed fireflies by accident. I would cup them in my hands too tightly and they would suffocate between my fingers. Alone. Slowly. In the dark. Nobody to see that wonderful light. And without light, a firefly isn’t anything at all, is it?” 

Renji wondered if this was what Izuru’s life with Gin was like. To be living your life one day and, for absolutely no reason, a monster comes in to step on your existance.

Was this divine punishment? Renji always knew that Aizen was the root of all the evils that plagued his friends’ adult lives. Maybe fate decided Renji had it too good by not being psychologically shredded by the ex-captain. 

As if crawling out of the Rukongai only to get spit on by the nobles of Seireitei wasn’t enough of a penance. Renji had been too haughty; he forgot his place. He needed to be reminded of his capacity for suffering.

“My little family has always remained humble and dignified, keeping our heads down in public and pulling Soul Society’s strings from the safety of the shadows. And when our group decided to step up and make an example of someone, it had to be you. You were so remarkably rebellious. It had to be your light.” 

Gensei’s fingers carded through Renji’s hair sweetly, and Renji’s skin crawled. He felt sick to his stomach. He wanted to expel this horrible feeling from inside him, but this wasn’t an illness he could simply eject. It would stay with him. 

“They wanted you dead from the moment Chiaki set her eyes on you. She could have done it at any time, but I used my influence to convince them to let you live. You see, though I was born into service for the Narcissus, I never cared much for politics myself. Noble or commoner, I had no room to judge. But I could tell that  _ you  _ were special. Of all the pets I kept in this room over the years, I knew you would be the most fascinating one yet. My firefly.” 

A nightmare. There was no explanation except that this was a nightmare. Renji would give anything to wake up back in bed, between Izuru and Shuuhei. Or, hell, he would even take waking up in the basement alone, free from this conversation and the memory of it. 

He wanted to bash his head against the wall until the memory of this night dribbled out of his cracked skull. He wanted to scream until all words poured out his throat and Renji forgot how to understand language. 

“Renji-kun,” Gensei said. “Look at me. So I know you’re listening.” 

Renji slowly rolled over, inch by agonizing inch, until he could look over his shoulder and into Gensei’s eyes. The older man’s smile was so wide it looked like a demon’s mask, like his teeth were too white. 

Gensei nodded with satisfaction. 

“There it is. You’re finally starting to look scared.” 

* * *

It had to be tonight. Before, Renji thought he could have held out a little longer, but this place was draining him of his strength. Of his pride. 

That was a transparent excuse. Really, Renji was just sick of being afraid. 

Renji shredded two long strips of fabric from the bottom of the bedsheet, and used one of them to wrap the collection of reeds into a tight, secure bundle. Fear and pride. Renji had convinced himself somehow that he was above fear, he had forgotten that fear was what had made him. 

Where does fear come from besides the desire to survive? What was more natural than mortal terror? Renji fought and struggled and raged, all because he was afraid.

The other strip of cotton was set to soak in the wash tub, then Renji took the paper cover off the lantern. He held the candle carefully in his hands, overtly aware of every twitch of his fingers and how absolutely fucked he would be if he extinguished the meager flame.

The small light seared his eyes. It wavered and flickered, a delicate little thing just barely keeping itself alive. The light. His light. 

Gensei would wish he had never been born with eyes to see such a thing. He would pay.

Assuming that Renji didn’t die before he could make that happen. Which, he reminded himself, was a very real possibility. And if there was one thing that Renji hated more than the idea of dying, alone and cold, in this hellish place, it would certainly be killing himself painfully via his own stupidity. 

Renji stared into the flame, let it wash over him, and chewed on his lip. 

Shuuhei would do it. All that clever wrath boiling inside of him, he would make them pay for underestimating him. 

Izuru would. Sweet, vengeful, sadistic Izuru. Izuru, who only did things on his own terms no matter the cost.

Rukia would not. She would have loyalty and faith that her friends were coming to her aid, she would not run away like a coward. But two outvoted one. 

Renji took the candle and the reeds, and walked carefully up the stairs. His ankle still ached, a stubborn throb that traveled through his foot with every step, if Renji moved too quickly then he would limp and his bandaged foot would thud as he climbed the stairs. Instead, he inched his way up carefully and quietly. 

After what seemed like ages he finally reached the top, and strained his ears for any movement. Over a week of captivity, and Renji had still only ever seen Gensei, Masao and Chiaki. But he had heard others shuffling about. If this worked, he had to be prepared to have a small army dogging his heels.

It was perfectly quiet. The only sound was Renji’s own breathing and, if he focused, the crackling static of the candle. 

The reeds were dry. Perfect kindling. The fire eagerly jumped from the thin candle wick onto the yellow grass and began to eat away, growing into a yellow flare in Renji’s hands. 

It worked too well. The fire was eating away at the reeds ravenously, and Renji’s hands burned from the heat. Sweat began to bead on Renji’s neck. It was fine, just bare it a little longer. 

Most houses built in the traditional Japanese style didn’t have a cellar, let alone a basement. So building this secret room underneath had to have been a custom job, and the wooden ceiling that kept the house from collapsing was clearly not fireproofed. More kindling. Renji held the burning reeds to the wooden planks above his head.

Fire began to gnaw at the dark wood right away, thick and fluffy clouds of smoke squeezing through the narrow gaps of the trapdoor. The smell of firewood seared Renji’s nose. 

It was too hot. Too hot for Renji to stand close any longer, he left the ceiling to burn as he hobbled back down the stairs to the wash tub. The wet cloth was an instant relief over Renji’s face, blocking out the smoke from his eyes. 

Well, most of the smoke. Renji was already feeling warm and light-headed, but hopefully that was the adrenaline of doing something ridiculously dangerous.

_ You’re going to die _ . Renji’s inner voice was surprisingly calm.  _ You’re going to burn to death here. And you did it to yourself, you stupid piece of shit.  _

The air thickened with heat, and when Renji dared to peek out from under the damp cloth he could see the ceiling being eaten away by flame. The trapdoor sank inwards, bulging grotesquely until the burning wood collapsed under the weight above it, leaving a smoldering hole in the ceiling.

A solid, metal-bound chest dropped through the ceiling and smashed several steps on the staircase. Well, that solved the mystery of what they kept over the trapdoor to keep Renji from opening it. Great fucking detective work. 

Renji could imagine the view from outside as the flames devoured the house, spreading over the straw flooring and licking eagerly at the rice paper doors. Anyone who had been in the house or even close by would have to see the orange hellfire in the windows, would be chased away by the blistering heat. 

That’s right. It wasn’t the flames that would get you, it was the heat. It would smother the oxygen right out of your lungs, leave your heart and brain starving until they had to choice but to shut down. 

Renji snatched the quilt from the pallet and wrapped it around his body, tying it like a cape around his neck before lifting the tub to douse himself with the rest of the bathwater. Steam sizzled, not even the water was cool enough to balance out the blistering hotness. But little protection was better than no protection. 

This was stupid. Even worse than stupid, it was humiliating and absurdly dangerous. And it was the only option he had left.

Here goes.

Renji ran right into the heat, eyes down and face covered as he climbed up the stairs. Stretched his gait over the broken steps on his way to the top. The hot wood burnt the bottom of his bare feet, and the tongues of fire licked at the cloth wrapped around his body. 

It hurt. 

It  _ hurt. _

It hurt his skin, it hurt his throat and the inside his body. The air was being burned right out of him, and despite the blinding light that surrounded him the corners of Renji’s vision began to go dark. Only a few short minutes passed, but they stretched on like an eternity. 

At least the building had to be empty now. No sensible person would put themselves through this. 

The inferno continued at the top of the stairs. Renji nearly froze at the sight of the horrific, blazing hell he had entered into. The flames had crawled over the dry tatami mat flooring, rendering the inside of the room almost pitch black with smoke. A boiling, sightless void. It pulsated and breathed and ate like a living monster. 

There was no time to putter around and look for an exit. Renji’s lungs screamed for air, he picked a direction and ran into it. 

Hands outstretched crashed through ricepaper and weak wooden beams, and the momentum carried Renji’s body through to dump him, tripping and rolling, onto the cold, wet grass. 

Renji’s body filled with cool air. He wheezed, his body starved of oxygen. His throat still burned, but some of the panic was beginning to subside. On his hands and knees, Renji opened his eyes and looked at the orange light cast by the flames falling over his body, reflecting off the dark grass. 

He still hurt. Badly. Renji clutched at the blanket he had wrapped around him for protection, and found it had been mostly reduced to ash. His back and his feet were burnt, a stubborn and searing pain that made Renji want to curl into a ball and scream. 

Something else felt different. Renji reached around to his neck, wincing at the bare, burnt skin where all the fabric had been burnt away. There was a space at his neck and shoulders where Renji was used to the weight of his ponytail lying against his back. 

Now, his fingers touched short, stiff bristles, hardened and blacked where hair had been burnt away. It left a rancid stench behind. 

For a brief moment, fear became the furthest thing from Renji’s mind. Familiar anger curdled inside Renji’s stomach. His hands tightened into fists, tearing handfuls of grass out of the earth. 

Behind him, the house crackled and popped like a hearty campfire. At this rate, the flames might catch the trees and spread through the woods. Renji had no time to be emotional. 

Renji staggered to stand on a broken ankle and red soles that protested the weight, but anything was less painful than being inside that fire. He needed to run. To disappear into the woods and then to the nearest town. 

Yet, Renji couldn’t stop himself. He gave one look back at the blazing house, squinting to look into the flames. He had to know if someone else was in that house. 

Along the red fire, a dark shadow moved. 

That was enough of an answer. 

Renji took off, relieved for once to disappear. 


	8. Log

The only advantage Renji had right now was the same reason he still was in this fucking pickle; he had no presence, no signature, not a speck of spiritual pressure to spare. An elite stealth operative from the Punishment Corps couldn’t have been more untraceable than Renji was right now. 

But you could still hear him, and the rattling of the chains between his hands. You could hear the crunch of dry branches under his loping gait, favoring his bad foot as he crashed through the underbrush and the weeds tearing at his legs. Could see the white of his robes standing out against the void of dark forest. 

Renji’s throat burned, his breath rattled inside his ribcage. He couldn’t possibly keep going on like this, running for what seemed like hours but were more likely minutes that stretched on and on in his mind. He had no idea if the person who had been in the house had actually seen him. Renji couldn’t afford to stop now. 

His body didn’t get the memo. Renji’s injured ankle collided with something solid, and with a yelp suddenly the ground disappeared from underneath him. Renji put out his arms to catch himself before crashing with the ground, and once he was lying down it was very tempting to just stay down there. 

He didn’t have the luxury. A heavy, unyielding spiritual pressure crept up on Renji, and his scalp instinctively stung. 

The person in the house could only have been Masao, stuck with midnight babysitting duty again. And he was coming right now. 

Renji pushed himself up, re-oriented his legs tangled in his robes. He couldn’t outrun Masao, so what else was there to do? 

He scanned the area. He wrung his brain for options. There had to be _something_ he could do that wouldn’t end up with in him back in a cage. 

Renji looked behind him and saw what he had tripped over in the first place. His foot had caught on a rotting log. Mossy and blooming with blue lichen, there was a hole near the bottom that revealed a hollow interior just large enough for a person even as big as he was to squeeze through. 

Not entirely stupid, Renji put his hand inside and felt the thin, crumbling wood. It was dry to the touch, and he didn’t feel any bugs crawling over his fingers. More importantly, he was desperate. He finally had his breath of freedom, and he would do anything to hold on to it. 

Renji shoved his head in the dark gap first, then wriggled in his shoulders. At last, he scooted up to make room for his hips and legs. He wiggled around until he had something akin to a position of comfort, or at least one that he could tolerate for a while. 

This was so stupid. 

Masao’s presence grew gradually stronger. He wasn’t even trying to cloak it, he knew he had the advantage of strength and speed. Masao wasn’t stealthy and covert like Chiaki. He didn’t bother sneaking up on prey that couldn’t escape. 

The inside of the log smelled like dirt and rotting wood. No shock there. It did remind Renji of many nights he had spent sleeping outside, huddling under whatever flimsy coverage was available. The heaviest, most dreadful kind of nostalgia washed over Renji. 

They had done things like this in the Inuzuri, he and Rukia. On nights when they couldn’t get a roof, they had sheltered under crates or sheets or anything that would cover them, lying on the cold ground. They hid from angry adults who had chased them all day over what meager scraps they could steal, always knowing that they might one day be found. At least in those days, Renji had someone’s hand to hold. Someone who loved him was close by. 

Leaves crunched under Masao’s feet. Renji’s heart leapt into his throat, and he covered his mouth with his hand to stifle the sound of his breath. 

As usual, Masao was patient, methodical, and loud. His footsteps ambled, and Renji counted his paces. Closer. Closer.

Masao stood directly in front of Renji. If he cared to roll over one particularly uninteresting log, it would all be over. Renji tried to shut his eyes, but found he was frozen staring at the dark interior of his hiding place. 

The log was not roomy. Renji’s available movements were mostly wiggle-based. It wasn’t filthy inside, but Renji was sure that when he came out there would be new grime on his skin and in his freshly burnt-off hair. And even though it hadn’t rained recently at all, it smelled wet. Why was it always wet?

Renji waited inside that well for what seemed like an eternity. Until he finally heard Masao’s footprints wander away. Further, and further. That iron presence gradually faded, still present but growing more distant every second. Renji let out the breath he had been holding in. 

Well, Renji. Congratulations. You were so looking forward to breaking free, now look what your triumphs have wrought. Are you proud of yourself?

Renji was still scared. Still weak. And now more alone than ever before. He knew this was objectively a better situation, but dread still pushed at his heart to ask if anything he did really made a difference. What was the goddamn point of it all?

To Renji’s horror, he felt his eyes sting. Alone, in the dark, in a goddamn log, Renji’s eyes welled up and started to spill tears. 

Fine. He guessed he was going to do this now. 

Somehow both begrudging and defeated, Renji let them drip sideways down his face, rolling over his nose and cheeks. It wasn’t like there was anyone here to see them. He had been trying to keep everything bottled up, tried to compensate for his weakness with toughness, and only occasionally exploding when things got too hot. 

Now, basically vanished off the face of the world, he was free to be at his lowest. So yeah, he cried. 

He cried about how much he wished Izuru was here to comfort him, and Shuuhei to make him feel safe. He cried because he missed his bed, and his clothes, and his friends and all the things that made him feel good about himself. 

He cried because he was just tired of this. All of this. That he had spent 35 years building himself up and it only took 9 days to ruin everything he had worked for. To make Renji trash again, feeling as powerless and helpless as he had when he was a little kid. 

He cried for that little kid. One of the lost children, ignored because he was nothing and then hated when he became something. It wasn’t fucking fair. It was like the universe wouldn’t let Renji be happy no matter what he did. 

He cried because his ankle fucking hurt, and he cried for his stupid fucking hair that had been burnt off, and because he was in a fucking _log_. And he cried because, fuck, what else was there even to do?

He had a good, long, _long_ cry. And when Renji finally fell asleep there, he thought he might have finally felt better.

He might have been lying, though. 

* * *

  
  


Morning came. Renji woke up slowly to the sound of birds chirping into the dawn, and to the stiffest shoulders he had in a long time. 

Renji crawled out of his hidey-hole cautiously on his hands, darting his eyes around before standing up. He couldn’t sense anyone’s spiritual energy, but Chiaki could disguise her presence perfectly. Even if he thought he was alone, he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure. 

But okay, let’s assume for now that he was alone. The next step was to get out of the woods, get back to the Seireitei. Even if the Gotei was hunting him down as much as Gensei’s goons were, he was better off sticking close to his allies. 

Renji looked up into the sky, where the tops of trees blotted a gray, overcast sheet of clouds. It had been a long time since he had to employ any kind of wilderness survival skills, but Renji never forgot those early years. He would be able to forage for food and shelter for at least a few days. Assuming he wasn’t caught and re-kidnapped at that time. 

The house, now presumably ashes, was at Renji’s back. He started to walk in the opposite direction. Eventually he would leave the woods, right? Soon he would be able to see the Seireitei’s white towers stabbing upwards into the sky. A beacon to bring him home. 

As he trudged dutifully onwards, Renji looked down at his hands. The chain between his wrists still rattled obnoxiously, and the metal repelled any warmth where it touched his skin. It was a horrible, ugly reminder of the past several days. 

How would Renji explain everything that had happened when he returned? There was the truth, obviously. But Renji wasn’t sure he had the words to describe it, or if he even wanted to. When he, burned and beaten and dirtied, came face-to-face with Izuru and Shuuhei, what would he even say to them? 

Thinking made Renji tired and heavy, which he couldn’t afford to be right now. He convinced his mind to focus on moving his body, and on the hours of marching that lay ahead.

Slowly and despite Renji’s despair, the trees gradually began to thin. And despite his paranoia, Renji didn’t encounter anyone along the way. No black shadows appearing in the corner of his vision. No white masks staring at him through black eyeholes. 

Finally, Renji stopped and leaned on a tree to catch his breath, and when he looked up he realized he was in front of a clearing. The forest had made way for open fields, some of them weedy and overgrown and some plowed for farming. Renji could smell the animal odor of livestock, and see the dappling of brown roofs laid against a dirt path. 

A town. He made it to civilization.

And sure enough, Renji looked into the clear distance to see the Seireitei. Waiting for him with it’s unknown dangers.

Even the tallest white tower was a tiny thing on the horizon, there was no way Renji would be getting there today or even tomorrow. Not if he walked all night. And speaking of night, Renji realized it was already beginning to get dark again. The sunlit hours had already passed. 

Renji went to the wide streets, a path of dirt connecting the ramshackle houses. He passed by people. People! Actual, real-life people who were sweeping their porches or carrying bundles of firewood and were not the faces of his captors. 

They still gave Renji some weird looks. Like nobody had seen a tattooed man in his under robes covered in soot strolling through the streets before. Renji must have looked like the walking dead. He would not let go of this small victory, though. 

Renji stopped in front of a small building, it’s open doorway throwing yellow light over him. Music, laughter, and the smell of food and alcohol flooded through the threshold. The small tavern, much tinier and humbler than the izayakas of the Seireitei, suddenly struck Renji with a bolt of loneliness. He wasn’t home yet. He was still a stranger, in unfriendly land. And he didn’t even have any pocket change to rent a room for the night. 

He saw a couple of figures stand at the entrance, through the half-curtains hanging over the doorway, and Renji’s blood froze. The black shihakusho of shinigami, zanpakuto tucked at their waists. 

“... To let us know if you see him. This is a dangerous individual.”

“Yes, Sirs. I’ll be careful.” 

Renji ducked into the alley next to the tavern, and pressed himself up against the grimy wall. Of course. There was no way of knowing which shinigami were Gensei’s minions and which were normal, standard Gotei minions. Even when Renji got to the Seireitei, his enemies might be waiting at the gates to receive him. 

He slid his back against the wall to sit on the floor and banged the back of his head against the paneling. Always one step forwards and two steps back, eh Abarai?

Renji heard the shinigami exit the tavern, and he curled himself into a ball huddled behind crates and piles of trash. They passed by him without a word. At least he could hide here for the night, and get moving again when daylight returned. Gotta think pragmatically, don’t get overemotional. 

Renji’s stomach whined pathetically. Just fantastic. Wasn’t Renji supposed to stop getting hungry when he was so spiritually weak? Maybe his stupid body was just used to eating, he couldn’t turn off his need for food like a switch no matter how little pressure he had. 

He heard, then, a click of wood and metal. A side door to the tavern had opened up, though it wasn’t nearly as bright and noisy as the front entrance had been. 

An older woman stepped out, a white apron wrapped around her waist and her yukata sleeves tied out of the way for work. In her hands she had a bucket of scraps to dump on the trash pile. 

Renji flinched when she turned and her eyes landed on him, crouching in her garbage like a stray mongrel. For her part, the woman gasped and dropped the bucket, spilling potato peelings all over the ground. Renji couldn’t blame her-- he probably looked even more gruesome than your run-of-the-mill drifter. 

“Hey--” Renji tried, not sure how he was going to lead into the whole ‘don’t tell those shinigami about me’ thing, but the woman instantly turned around and darted back through the door. It slammed shut behind her so hard it rattled on it’s rusty hinges. “... Great.” 

Renji pressed his palms into his eyes, groaning to himself. Was she going to go out and get those shinigami? He’d better scamper off now and find a different garbage pile to hunker down in. 

He had resolved to getting up when the door opened once again. The woman poked her head back out, strands of gray hair slipping out of her tight bun. 

She opened the door further to stand on the stoop. The woman looked at Renji directly now, not pulling her eyes off of him as she did the first time, and he was frozen by her stare like a cornered beast. 

In her hands the woman held a plate of mixed goma-ae, fresh out of the kitchen with the refreshing scent of sesame sauce. 

Silently, she sat down on the stoop and placed the plate next to her. 

Renji waited a minute, still jumpy and blinking cat-like, before resolving to take her invitation.

* * *

  
  


“What’s your name?”

“Sato Sachiko. What about yourself?”

Renji looked away while he ate. He should still be used to being a nobody, but recently everywhere he went in the Seireitei his reputation precedeeded him. In the Rukonai he was back to being anonymous. No one knew about his accomplishments, or his failures.

“Abarai Renji.” He answered, and watched for a reaction. Sachiko gave none. “Why didn’t you turn me into those guys?”

“Those officers? Well, the reward they were offering for you wasn’t worth the effort.” She smiled, wrinkles crinkled around her eyes. The lines of a life fully lived. “I’m only joking, son. Any shinigami who come this far out from the Seireitei are only looking to stir up trouble. And the state that you’re in right now, you don’t look nearly like the kind of monster they were describing.”

“Thanks, I think?” Renji shook his head, but couldn’t resist returning the smile. He had been starving for this, for some genuine kindness. 

Not that it wasn’t still possible that Sachiko would betray him. But at least if that were the case, he was pretty sure this was one person he could actually outrun. 

“So what is your story then? You look like hell, son. Why is the Gotei dogging you like you spit in their tea?”

“Non-consensual desertion. Long story.”

“Hmm.” 

Renji set down the plate after he had cleaned off every last sesame seed. He had a harder time digesting the kindness of a complete stranger who had no reason to help him. Did Sachiko have a family living with her in that tavern? Did she put them at risk by even talking to Renji?

“Thank you very much for the food. I can’t tell you-- you have no idea how much I missed having some nice company for a change. I’m moving on to the Seireitei, so hopefully you won’t have to worry about those guys hanging around for much longer.”

The old woman’s shoulders hunched, she looked at Renji with such pity it made him feel raw. “Why in the world would you be going there?”

That was a hell of a question. “Everyone is waiting for me. I can’t just disappear on them.” 

“Mm.” Sachiko said again, and studied the alley wall opposite to them. Renji got the idea she wasn’t very chatty. “Well, if that’s the case you had better hurry up and come in. You look like you haven’t had a decent night in years.” 

Renji nearly balked as the woman picked up Renji’s plate and stood at her full height, which almost rivaled Rukia’s. She stood in the doorway and held it open, drilling into Renji with an expectant look. “Come in now. While we’re young.”

“Why would you let me in? I could be a thief or a murderer.”

“Child, if you think there’s anything in here worth stealing or killing for it will shock us both to death.” Sachiko said tersely. “I have empty beds upstairs that no one is paying to sleep in, so it doesn’t make any difference to me if you’re in one of them. Now hurry along, before my charitable mood passes.”

It felt like he was at Ichigo’s feet again, swallowing his pride and begging for help to save Rukia. It made him feel very humble and small. The safety that a child feels in a parent’s bed after a nightmare. Not that Renji knew what that was like. 

Renji hurried in before Sachiko could change her mind. 

* * *

  
  


The upstairs room that Sachiko set him up in was small. But it wasn’t a basement, so Renji had no complaints. There was one futon with a simple square pattern and table for meals to be served on. It smelled a little musty. The odor of loneliness.

“If you’re dead-set on going to the Seireitei, you had better clean up first. I don’t think they’d even let you through the gates with the state you are right now. The bath is downstairs.” 

A real bath. This woman was a god-send. 

The inn’s bath was miniscule compared to the bath houses of the Seireitei, but Renji didn’t care a bit. He was too busy luxuriously sinking into the water, feeling the heat spreading into his bones, washing free of the ash and the grime and the misery.

It wasn’t as relaxing as it could have been, frankly. For one thing Renji had to unwrap the filthy bandages around his injured ankle, and when he did so he was greeted by the sight of his swollen, purple joint throbbing accusatorily at him. Running through the woods on it had not been medically advisable.

Renji adjusted his foot tenderly in the water, then pressed his back against the edge of the tub and ran his fingers through his hair. He expected to feel the waist-length strands sliding across his knuckles, but of course what he touched was mostly short and bristly like dry straw, and the sound of his shackles clicking echoed in his ears.

His shackles. Renji turned his arms over, droplets of silvery water rolling down his tan skin. The iron cuffs still clung to his wrists. 

There must be a way to get them off. His skin was wet and slippery, when Renji tried to tug the cuffs upwards towards his fingers he felt a little more give before the metal caught on the bones of his wrist. 

He had a horrible vision of the cuffs biting into his flesh, ripping the skin off of his hands before they would slide off of his arms. Renji chewed the inside of his cheek. There had to be a better way. One that wouldn’t make him pass out from blood loss in the bath.

In the bath. Renji’s eyes drifted to a yellowing bar of soap sitting on the rim of the tub. It couldn’t really be that simple, could it? There was no way it would work.

Still, he lathered up the soap between his hands. Watched the bubbles foam up under his fingers as he slid the glossy soap across his wrists underneath the metal. 

It still took some brute force. Renji grimaced as he gripped one cuff and yanked it up over the widest part of his hand. It hurt, but he felt like he could actually do it. He was so _close._

At last, the cuff popped off. Renji almost wasn’t expecting to succeed, and he watched with shock as the iron shackle slipped out of his fingers and plopped into the water. A red ring of tender flesh circled his freed wrist, all that was left of his binding. 

The other cuff soon followed. And just like that, he was done. Renji stretched his arms out over his head, spread them out over the edge of the tub like a bird unfurling its wings. Giddy excitement bubbled inside him.

A stab of realism interrupted his elation. Renji sank into the bath, the bottom of his face disappearing into the water. He wasn’t home-free yet. Cuffs or no cuffs, there was no way to just walk through the gates of the Seireitei and pretend this had never happened. 

Steam rose off the bathwater, covering the room like a fog. Renji looked over his shoulder towards the door. A chill broke the heat and climbed up his spine. Chiaki or one of her allies could be out there any minute, waiting to come in and put him down. 

Renji stood up and grabbed the towel off the edge of the tub. He threw it over himself protectively. 

The ruined underrobe that saw Renji’s escape had been peeled off and abandoned on the floor of the washroom proper when Renji went into the bath, and he honestly hadn’t been looking forward to putting it back on.

When he returned, the stained white cloth was gone. Instead, there was a folded square of pink set neatly on the counter. 

He unfolded the yukata, and the light rose-colored fabric draped down to the floor. Tiny blue flowers were embroidered into the cloth, with a green obi to tie it together. The bright colors and simple design were a little gaudy, lended perhaps by the fact that it looked cheap and well-used. But it was clean and soft. When he held the cloth up to his nose, he closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of washed cotton. It reminded Renji of being home.

* * *

Sachiko was waiting in Renji’s room when he returned. When he entered, she nodded at him approvingly.

“You look much better. I’m sorry about the colors, I don’t exactly have much spare clothing lying around.”

“It’s fine. I like it.” Renji grinned and adjusted the yukata’s collar around his neck. 

A clean towel was laid out in front of Sachiko, and across it she had set out a comb, a hand mirror, and a pair of scissors. 

  
  


“Do you have kids?”

“I did.” Sachiko adjusted the towel around Renji’s shoulders as he sat in front of her, back facing the old woman. And after what seemed like an infinite number of seconds passing by, he heard the first snip of the scissor blades shearing away the black, burnt ends of his hair. “In the living world. I had a son and a daughter. Grandkids, too. When the time comes, I’ll go out and find them. And you?”

“No kids. I don’t think they’re in the cards for me.”

“What about your family? Your human one.” 

“I’ve been in Soul Society as early back as I can remember.” Renji answered. “I don’t even know if I was ever a human.” 

“You look human enough. I suppose that’s all that really matters.” Sachiko continued to trim, Renji eventually saw little black bristles falling off his shoulders and floating into his lap.

The experience was soothing, Renji was tempted to fall asleep. If he tried he could imagine it was Izuru’s hands gently combing through his hair, every move full of love. Afterwards Shuuhei would braid it. Renji would enjoy the weight of it, his pride, resting against his shoulders. It was evidence that he was cared for. That he was loved. 

At last, Sachiko removed the towel and brushed off Renji’s shoulders with her sleeves before handing him the mirror. “Here.”

Renji held up the hand mirror and observed himself. He still had terrible shadows under his eyes, but his complexion was looking miles better than it did when Renji saw his reflection in the wash tub. He no longer felt like he was looking at an enemy. 

The hair was an unavoidably dramatic change. The layers of red now only reached Renji’s chin, curling inwards slightly at the ends. The front-most part of Renji’s hair fell haphazardly into his face, needing to be brushed out of his eyes. 

_I look like Rukia_ , Renji realized in amazement. Hopefully she would get a kick out of that when he saw her. 

“It’s great.” 

Sachiko used the towel to scoop up the trimmings off the floor. “You look disappointed.”

Renji couldn’t put the mirror down, he continued staring into his own face. He still looked like a stranger. “Well. I miss it.” 

“You always miss it at first. But in time you appreciate the change. Besides, hair grows back.”

* * *

The middle of the night crawled closer, and soon it was time to shut off all the lights. Renji lay, tucked into the futon, trying to sleep but not really. He kept staring up at the ceiling, eyes wide. The restfulness he had felt among Sachiko’s company now fled him. 

They were searching for him, Renji knew. Enemies and allies and enemies disguised as allies. How would he get to Seireitei? How would he tell his friends how to find him? 

Even more dreadfully, Gensei kept invading his thoughts. Renji knew that if Gensei had his way, he wouldn’t allow Renji to be killed with dignity. He could construct a new cage, a new prison to hold him. He would give Renji an iron collar to match the shackles, and keep him so far away from everything comforting and familiar that Renji wouldn’t know who he was anymore. 

A damned dog indeed, though now that moniker had a new and even more sickening twist to it. No matter what Renji did now, he was at the mercy of a hundred forces pushing him in any direction. 

Renji inhaled. Exhaled. Once. Twice. He needed to conserve his strength. The fog of sleep began to descend on him. 

The explosion that ensued right after shattered it. 

A loud, ear-busting boom shook Renji’s teeth inside his skull. It felt like electricity was shooting up his arms and legs all at once, he jolted underneath the covers and rolled onto the floor before finding his feet. Instantly he was awake and alert.

They were here. They found him. And now they were going to destroy this building as punishment for Renji’s rebellion. 

He needed to warn Sachiko, he raced out of his room and into the hallway. “Sato-san! They’re here! We gotta get out--” 

One of the adjacent doors opened up, Sachiko looked quite disoriented in her plain sleeping yukata and her wiry, grey hair down. “Don’t make such a fuss at this hour. The Shibas are bad enough without you adding to the racket.”

Renji stared at her, his heart still pounding in his chest. “The Shibas?” 

She did an admirable job masking her annoyance at him, glaring at him through squinting, sleepy eyes. “You haven’t been here for very long, have you? Come along, and wipe that paranoid look off your face.” 

Sachiko walked into Renji’s room, the redhead feeling quite foolish as he followed her. There was a single window in the room that Renji had obviously kept closed, but now Sachiko opened it to show the wide horizons of the Rukongai evening. 

From the vantage of the second floor, Renji could now see a structure. One that was dwarfed by the further towers of the Seireitei, but still stood proudly above the rest of the Rukongai rooftops. What appeared to be a chimney carved out of perfect steel poked out over the hills. 

Another blasting explosion sounded, and Renji and Sachiko watched as a ball of white fire flew out of the chimney. It climbed into the sky among the thousands of stars, and then burst into a fiery ring of rainbow colors. Reds and blues and purples painted the black sky. The most brilliant fireworks Renji had ever seen. 

“Oh.” He said dully.

“No one is coming after you yet.” Sachiko said. “Just some rowdy neighbors. Try not to let it bother you.” 

Renji continued to watch the impromptu pyrotechnics show, and something occurred to him; he remembered something from what seemed like a lifetime ago, when the Seireitei was dumbstruck by rumors of Ryoka falling from the sky. 

That was it. That was his ticket back in.

  
  



	9. Red

Renji intended to leave first thing in the morning. That way, he could cover a lot of ground and hopefully avoid people as much as possible. 

It was a shame he couldn’t say goodbye to Sachiko; she deserved better than to be walked out on without a word. But Renji what would he even say to her? Any attempt to convey his appreciation would just fall lamely at his feet. Considering the danger he brought with him wherever he went, she was probably glad to see the back of him. 

Despite his best efforts to remain stealthy, Renji’s heels still dragged across the floor. He shuffled stiffly down the stairs, leaning heavily on his good ankle. On the way to the kitchen, Renji passed by a mirror hung on the wall and was distracted by his new, short-haired visage. He couldn’t stop himself from gawking at his own shocking reflection like a parakeet. His choppy hair swished every time he turned his head, tickling his chin. 

Everything was quiet, the kind of loneliness only experienced during early mornings in someone else’s home. It seemed that Renji had gotten out undetected until he opened the side-door to the alley. But sure enough, as soon as it swung open there was Sachiko. Sitting on the steps, smoking a pipe, and nailing Renji with an unimpressed look. She was still wearing her sleeping clothes, loose blue cotton bunched up around her small, frail shoulders.

“So you’re serious after all? About going to the Seireitei.”

“Did you think I wasn’t?”

The old woman sighed, breathing out a plume of smoke like a dragon. “No, you seem like the one-track-mind sort. Still, it’s foolish to leave for a journey without having anything to eat or drink.”

“I mean,” Renji hoped he wasn’t blushing, shuffling his feet in the threshold. “I’ve already taken advantage of your hospitality enough, haven’t I? Figured I would get outta your hair as quickly as possible.”

Sachiko tapped her pipe against the stairs, dumping ash out onto the ground. “You’re incorrigible. Don’t you care about an old woman’s peace of mind? How am I supposed to sleep at night knowing that I let a fool pass out on the road from dehydration? You’re lucky I had a feeling about what kind of man you are. Here.”

Sachiko pulled her sleeve off of her lap, revealing a kate-bukuro weaved out of dry straw and patched with mis-matched fabric. She held it out by the rope for Renji to take from her bony hand. 

“This should be enough food and water for at least a day. A day and a half, if you’re frugal.” 

Renji’s instinct was to say no. His stomach twisted in knots, trying to digest how much this poor woman had gone out of her way to help him. He had done nothing to deserve it from her-- not her help, nor her treating him with the dignity of being a person.

In the end, he had no way of thanking her except to swallow his pride. Renji tied the rope around his waist, the light container resting against the small of his back.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled.

“Why? For leaving this place? Don’t be, child. Everyone leaves this place.” Sachiko said solemnly, looking at her hands as she turned over her pipe. 

_Not me,_ Renji wanted to say. _I’ll come back. Once I get my powers back, I’ll show you I wasn’t just a charity-case._

But he couldn’t make promises like that yet. So he just told her goodbye. 

The Seireitei loomed in the horizon, still the ultimate goal. But it would have to wait-- this time Renji was heading for the slender chimney of the Shiba’s estate. 

* * *

As a result, Renji had a nice, long time to think about how horribly boring and slow walking was when he didn’t have shunpo. 

Was this what life was going to be like from now on? No powers, no abilities or anything. As slow and weak as any normal person. Renji and Rukia made a journey like this many years ago, going from the Inuzuri, almost on the edge of Soul Society, all the way to the middle. No money for food or shelter or anything. 

He couldn’t go back to being a shinigami without powers. Forget even showing his face in the Sixth Division. And it wasn’t exactly like Renji had any other marketable skills to earn his keep. All his education, all his training was to be a soldier. 

So why was he even trying so hard to get back? It wasn’t like he had a future. 

Goddammit. Why was he thinking of this now, after he had gone through so much to get out of that stupid basement? Renji balled his hands into fists and forced himself to trudge onwards with greater conviction. He was going home because he had people to get back to, and because he refused to disappear off the face of Soul Society like a piece of trash! 

Just leaving the town at his back felt like it took ages, but the ground under Renji’s feet gradually turned from paved cobblestone to rough dirt. The landscape around him grew lush with long grass. The Shibas were supposed to be, like, these isolated apolitical hermits, right? Made sense they were far out of the way from civilization.

Renji knew… bits and pieces about the Shiba Clan. Apparently they used to be one of the Great Noble Houses, but lost that status somehow and ended up exiled to the Rukongai. Renji had to appreciate the irony of that-- a bunch of high-and-mighty nobles knocked off their pedestal, reduced to sulking among the commoners. Not even the oldest and most prestigious bloodlines in Soul Society were immune from indignity.

Kuukaku Shiba was the head of the family now, and she had been responsible for launching the Ryoka through the Seireitei’s barriers. That act of extremely intentional, laser-focused destruction saved Rukia’s life. 

Renji only met Kuukaku once in person, when she launched him and the other shinigami up to Ywach’s palace. His memories of the events around that period get a little fuzzy. A lot was going on and some of it was hallucinations. He also knew that Shuuhei went out to the Rukongai at one point to interview her, but he had no idea how that went. 

And then there was that one. The other one. Ganju? The shinigami-hater who was Ichigo’s guide through the Seireitei. Renji never exactly got to know him under friendly circumstances and probably left a bad impression, but he at least helped save Rukia. 

And Kaien. Renji knew enough about Kaien, though Rukia never wanted to talk about him. 

The Sun climbed high into the sky over Renji’s head, his foot ached under the weight of his body and his stomach complained. Ugh. This body was such a burden. 

Renji stopped underneath the shape of a low tree where he could keep an eye on the road. Not that he really anticipated it being useful. If Chiaki or anyone else did come for him, he probably wouldn’t see them until it was too late. 

He should have tried to snag a straw hat from Sachiko before he left to cover his head. Renji’s hair may be short, but it was still bright red. How were you _not_ supposed to spot him? 

All the more reason to keep moving. Renji tucked into his travel bag (Sachiko had prepared a flask of water and a lunch of mostly table scraps. Not that he was fit to complain about that) and ate with one eye over his shoulder. Like a hunted beast. The sooner he got back on the road, the sooner he could get home.  
  


* * *

Now this couldn’t be right. 

Renji folded his arms and tilted his head, as if changing the angle might give him a different view of the building before him. Sure enough, there was an enormous gray chimney towering over the roof of the large, stately manor. And the sign at the entrance did declare it to be the headquarters of the Shiba Clan. 

Though Renji might have been more inclined to believe it if the sign weren’t hung between two enormous stone statues carved into the shape of human feet. The ropes of the banner were tied around each big-toe, proudly pointing to the sky with no regard for their insult to the beautiful natural landscape.

Kuukaku must have a weird sense of humor. Renji hoped this bode well for him as he approached, and tried not to think too much about Urahara’s candy shop. 

He stopped at the front door, and found himself looking around nervously. Gensei would try to follow Renji to the ends of Soul Society, and he apparently didn’t care who he had to go through to do it. Was it really responsible for Renji to come to the Shiba house and risk bringing that danger onto them? Would they even let him stay once they had heard his story? 

Pathetic. Who would give sanctuary to a powerless, exiled shinigami who turned up on their doorstep, begging like a mongrel? 

Renji slammed his fist against the solid, wood door. Dammit, Renji! We already went over this! He was going to get help! He was going to make it home. And he wasn’t going to let Gensei or any of his creepy little friends win! Even if Renji survived out of spite, that was still a reason to survive. He slammed his knuckles once more. 

He should have thought that move through a little more, because Renji was caught off-guard when the front door swung open suddenly. Two identical broad-shouldered men wearing extravagant uniforms looked down their noses at him crossly. 

“The Shiba household is closed to the public today. Visitors are not welcome at this time.” One of them declared at a loud volume that frankly didn’t settle Renji’s already-frayed nerves. 

His companion (brother?) followed in a matching candor. “Requests or noise complaints regarding the Shiba pyrotechnic displays must be turned in on Wednesday by no later than noon. Expect a processing time of at least 2 weeks before being accepted or denied.”

“What day is today?” Renji asked automatically, realizing he had lost track of the weekdays. Then he focused up, straightening his posture as professionally as he could manage. “Look, I wanna talk to Shiba Kuukaku.”

“The Master is not welcoming visitors at this time.” The guards repeated in tandem. Renji felt his frustration rising. 

“I don’t have time for this. Tell her I’m a friend of Ichigo’s.”

That, at least, seemed to get their attention. Renji watched the guards’ eyebrows climb up their wide foreheads and look at each other in silent communication before flitting back to him. 

“And… who should say is calling on the Master?” 

“Um.” Renji resisted the squirming self-consciousness that crawled around inside his belly. He stood proud, to the best of his ability. “Lieutenant Abarai Renji.” 

“Lieutenant Abarai.”

Renji felt their eyes scan him up and down. No spiritual pressure, no sword, no uniform. Yeah guys, he knew. He put his hands on his hips and scowled. “I’m kinda in a rush here. If we could maybe move things along.”

“Wait here.” 

A rush of air escaped the door and blew in Renji’s face as it was forcefully slammed shut. He frowned and tried to push it open again, but the door refused to budge. Renji dropped his forehead against the wall. Perfect. 

  
  


Once again left to his own devices, Renji sat down in front of the house, elbow propped up on his knee. He tapped his fingers on his thigh. How long could it possibly take to tell Kuukaku to open the damn door? 

Maybe she just didn’t feel like helping out a shinigami again. If she even believed he was who he said he was. Renji dragged his hands over his face. What a pain. 

The Sun had reached its highest point in the sky, and began its descent downwards. Renji watched his own shadow stretch across the grass, the breeze carrying seeds and tickling the back of Renji’s neck. 

A sudden shiver crept up that neck, and Renji froze. It hadn’t just been the wind. 

Renji ran to the door and pounded his fist against it. “Hey! Open up!” 

He had sensed someone, he was sure of it, but he didn’t see anyone. Panic instantly started swelling in Renji’s chest. He looked over his shoulder for any human figure. As if being able to see them would make him any safer. 

The shadow of the house lay upon the grass in a pool of darkness, with two taller shadows stretching above it. One was the long shape of the chimney. One was the shape of a person. 

Renji’s breath roared in his own ears. He looked up towards the sky, to the black, billowing shape of a shihakusho standing on the roof, face covered by a now all-too-familiar mask. 

“Open up goddammit!” Renji felt the shadow move over him, and threw his full weight against the door. 

He was sure he was about to feel the edge of a blade slicing through his neck, but the firm barrier of the door finally swung open and sent Renji tumbling through the threshold. He landed unsteadily on his hands and knees in time to look up and see Ganju, long-haired and red-faced, standing over him and winding his arm back with something clenched in his tight fist.

“No solicitors!” Ganju threw something small, round, and on fire from his palm, and Renji had the good sense to duck as the bomb sailed over his head and into the face of the masked figure that dropped down to stand outside

The two guards that Renji encountered earlier shut the door behind Renji, just in time to hear a loud, booming blast outside. Each one of them clapped their hands together, and there was a flood of spiritual energy as a kidou barrier rose within the walls of the house. 

Renji’s heartbeat pounded in his ribs. He waited for more masked figures to beat down the door, but there was instead a flat and uncanny silence. If they were indeed trying to get in, then the barrier seemed to be keeping them out. 

Ganju wiped his hands off on his pants, his fingers stained black with gunpowder. His eyes fell on Renji with an expression of bemused surprise, bushy eyebrows knit together. 

“Hey, aren’t you that hot-shot lieutenant who got Rukia arrested and fought Ichigo?”

Renji grit his teeth defiantly where he sat on his knees. “What of it?”

“Damn. Time has not been kind t’ you, has it?” He pointed towards the entryway. “Now, who’re your friends and why did you bring them to my house?”

Renji made himself stand up and sweep up the leftover shards of his dignity. “It’s a long story. Where’s your sister?”

* * *

Kuukaku was as intimidating as Renji remembered. Rather, she was even more so. 

The air around her smelled of smoke and burning, though it was unclear if the smell came from the pipe on her lips or the fireworks she spent all day crafting. There was black under her nails, and singed edges to her long, dark hair. The stump of her missing arm hung out of her robe, completely free of any self-consciousness. 

That wasn’t half the reason that Renji was uncomfortable speaking to her. He still struggled with what the hell he was going to say.

Kuukaku didn’t have any interest in waiting around for him to figure it out. The clan leader lounged back on a tower of cushions, and gestured in front of her with her pipe. “Take a seat, Lieutenant. Abarai, right?”

Renji sat down on his knees, and tried to shake off the feeling that his teacher was calling on him for getting in trouble during class. “Yeah.”

She took a drag from her pipe, and exhaled two lines of smoke from her nostrils. “I usually don’t begrudge handsome gentlemen callers, Abarai, but you’re looking a little worse for wear to have courtship on the mind. So let’s hear it. What the hell happened?” 

This was the first hurdle. Renji rocked on his heels, and thought about how to answer. Might as well get right down to it.

“Well, now here’s the thing,” He scratched the back of his neck. Still not used to finding so little hair back there. “I kinda, sorta, got my powers stolen. And now this secret society of blue-blood shinigami wanna kill me. So you can only imagine what a day I’ve had.”

Whatever she expected to hear, that wasn’t it. Kuukaku blinked at him, distractedly letting ash fall out of her pipe and spill onto the floor.

Renji felt compelled to fill the silence. “Yeah, so I’m basically stranded. And then I saw your fireworks last night and thought, ‘hey, that rings a bell!’ and kind of figured you could just. Y’know. Pop me into one of your canons and launch me into Seireitei. Which now that I’m saying this all out loud sounds like it might have some complications, but you kind of see where my line of thinking is coming from, yeah?”

“Uh huh.” Kuukaku nodded, but her brows were quirked as she scanned Renji up and down. He fought the urge to shy away or bare his teeth under her appraisal. She may not technically be a noblewoman anymore, but she had all the aloofness befitting one. “Okay, back up for a minute. This secret society of shinigami--”

“Noble shinigami.” Renji interrupted. “It’s like a whole ‘purify the Seireitei for the sanctity of the noble bloodlines’ thing.”

“The secret society of noble shinigami,” She amended. “If they’re chasing you out here in the Rukongai, won’t you be in just as much danger in the Seireitei?” 

“Yeah, I’m aware. But nobody knows I’m out here.”

“Well, even if I wanted to send you right into the belly of the beast, I couldn’t. If I tried to launch you in the state you are right now, you’d burn up into a little poof before you even left the canon.”

Renji grimaced. “Couldn’t you, I dunno, put up a barrier around me or something?”

Kuukaku shook her head. Her expression was almost one of pity. “The barrier is held by the user focusing their spiritual power. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Then give me some options!” Renji hissed. He stood up, shoulders tight and anger coiling inside of him. He refused to give up. “You have no idea what I went through to get this far! I spent days trapped with an obsessive stalker breathing down my neck, I set a house on fire with _myself inside it_ ! So if you have any ideas at all, believe me, I would be _thrilled_ to hear them! I would be fucking _ecstatic_ if someone with an ounce of real influence over the existance of Soul Society could help _me_ for once!” 

His breath was hot in his throat, Renji’s chest heaved with effort of containing his anger. He felt, for the first time in a long time, like himself again. 

Kuukaku considered him coolly. She took another long drag off her pipe. “You feel better now? Glad you got that off your chest?” 

“Yeah, a lil’ bit.” Renji admitted. 

“Good to hear it.” She bounced her knee thoughtfully, Renji could see the gears in her brain churning. “It’s not like I have any choice but to help you, thanks to you bringing your little entourage to my front door and making them my problem. So don’t think I’m doing any favors for you just because you’re giving me those puppy dog eyes.”

“I’m really hoping you’re leading up to something with this.”

“I can’t bring you to your little friends in the Seireitei, but we can bring them here.” Kuukaku grinned toothily, the corners of her eyes crinkling from the width of her smile. “What’s your favorite color, Abarai?”

* * *

  
  


Kuukaku put him up in one of the manor’s guest rooms. “Koganehiko and Shiroganehiko are trained healers. You’ll want them to look at those burns.” 

Renji’s impulse was to protest. After coming all this way, he wanted to be tended to by someone he knew. He wanted Izuru to make him better. 

But you know what they say about beggars and choosing. Renji would need every advantage he could get. He couldn’t afford to hold back even a little. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.” 

The dark-haired woman leaned against the entryway, eyes glittering like coal. She did indeed remind him of Yoruichi, all mysterious and renegade. The part of Renji’s brain that liked to wander away from him wondered what kind of relationship the two women had in the past, he could imagine there being some chemistry there. Scandalous! 

Kuukaku made a gesture at Renji to approach. “C’mere.”

Renji obliged. 

“Hold out your hand.”

“Why?”

“Don’t ask me stupid questions.” 

Renji held out his palm. 

Kuukaku put her fist over it and deposited a small, round object into his hand. It was only about as large as the nail of his thumb, and it had the slightly grainy texture of dry clay. When Renji looked at it in his palm, he saw it had been painted a dark red. 

“With any luck, your allies will be here by dawn. But so will your enemies. And you’re obviously in no state to fight.” Kuukaku said seriously. She had that kind of heavy candor, the balance between humor and sternness that would be fitting of a captain. “That smoke bomb is stronger than it looks. If you get in trouble, crush it and get out of there as fast as you can.”

Renji stared at the small orb. Of course. He was still useless defending himself, the best thing he could do would be to stay out of the way as much as possible. 

“Sorry I don’t have any way to thank you.” Was the only thing Renji had to say for himself. Kuukaku just shrugged. 

“I wasn’t thrilled about the idea of helping any shinigami, even after meeting Rukia. But, y’know, the Blood War changed a lot. If we could do something that might save lives, why the hell would we sit on our asses and let people die? That’s not being a hero or anything, that’s just being decent.” Kuukaku’s arm was slung over her hip, thumb tucked into her skirts. Her other shoulder pressed against the doorframe. “So don’t thank me for saving one life. Thank me the next time I save thousands.” 

Reni didn’t have a decent response for that. He felt humbled, which was maybe what she wanted, so he ended up saying the first and most simple thing that came to his head. “Yes, ma’am.” 

This seemed to amuse Kuukaku, a long and thin smirk curling her lips. “I’ll send the twins in to see your wounds. And don’t do anything foolish. I’ll look bad if you die on my property.” 

She left him without anything else, Renji stood there and held a very potent smoke bomb. He had a very apprehensive feeling about tomorrow squirming in his gut.

* * *

Renji had anticipated that the Shiba house would be busier. He thought that Kuukaku and Ganju would have kept some luxury from their former status as one of the Great Houses, they would have kept servants and retainers and extravagance. However, it seemed that the two servants Renji met before were the only people employed here. 

This was a good thing. When Renji was inevitably unable to sit still, he slipped out of the guest room and into the long, empty hallways just outside his door. No one was around to stop him, so he wandered. He told himself it was to clear his head, but really Renji was just feeling anxious and wanted to move around. At least with his burns and his broken ankle healed, it no longer was so uncomfortable to walk. 

Trapped. He was trapped again. Unable to go outside or to make his own choices, what was this house except a bigger version of the basement? He had only graduated to a larger cage. 

Renji tried and then failed not to think about what Gensei was doing right now, how he would be scheming to turn Renji’s whole world against him. Not to think of Chiaki’s childish, destructive rage or Masao’s soulless, void-like stare. It felt like they were haunting him. Already ghosts, and thus already immortal. 

What about his friends? Would they know the signal when Kuukaku sent it? It seemed such a silly thing, but somehow Renji couldn’t shake the fear of being forgotten. Or worse, ignored. 

They wouldn’t forget him. Not Shuuhei. Not Izuru. Not Rukia. Not his friends, who Renji had spent years knowing and fighting alongside and protecting. If anything, Renji’s existence was probably an agony to them right now. It was selfish of him to be afraid of being ignored when the people he cared about were probably suffering over him right now. The guilt and shame writhed under his skin.

He couldn’t take it anymore. Renji kept walking until he came to a window, the shutters pulled closed tight to block the outside. The world was out there.

The edge of Renji’s finger slipped under the covering, and with baited breath he cracked it open. Renji pressed his face to the edge of the exposed window, looking outside with one eye. 

It was a beautiful night. The stars glowed white, the moon shone pearlescent, against a perfect black sky. Amidst everything else, Renji had forgotten that it was spring. Summer was stubbornly moving in, bringing it’s sweltering march of heat and green nature with it. 

Outside, Renji saw the first fireflies of the season dancing over the grass. Their yellow lights glowed and flickered fervently, glittering like gold in the cool, dark night. It was hypnotic, the hundreds of insects lighting up the fields in a dizzying pattern known only to themselves. 

Renji was not sure if he should feel inspired or sickened. His thoughts were so heavy, he did not know how to wipe them clean. He imagined a hand cupping one of those yellow lights, slowly crushed by tightening fingers. 

“You’re not doing anything by worrying, y’know.” 

For one, terrible, agonizing minute, Renji was absolutely sure it was Gensei’s voice that he heard. A grim, taunting reminder of his hopelessness. 

Renji was sure that he would turn around and see, standing in the hallway, clear as day, Gensei ready to drag him back down into that pit of despair. Or possibly Gensei’s voice was in Renji’s ear, and he would wake up and realize it had been a dream, he had never escaped at all. 

What was worse? To come so close to freedom and have it snatched away, or to have deluded yourself into thinking you had come near at all? 

But that voice wasn’t Gensei. It had none of that cutting mirth. And when Renji turned around, he felt rather sheepish to be staring dumbly at Ganju, who was looking quite cross as usual with his large, square jaw firmly set. 

Renji forced his heart out of his throat and back into his chest. “What?”

His fear must have been noticeable, because Ganju raised an eyebrow. “You’re just like Ichigo, all brooding and stewing in guilt and stuff. That kid always acted like Sun wouldn’t rise and set unless he carried it on his back.”

“That’s not fair. You don’t know what it’s like for him.” Renji felt his shoulders stiffen, anxiety chased away by a stubborn indignity. “It’s fine t’ be hanging around out here and help out whenever you feel like it, but some people really are expected to put our necks on the line every day.”

“Who’s expecting that? Your captain?” Ganju rolled his eyes. ““People like you an’ Ichigo-- yeah, people will tell you where to go and what to do. But that’s not why you actually listen to them, is it? You do it because you wanna go around and look for hard choices to make. It’s sick.”” 

Looking for hard choices. As if there had been a choice. Renji couldn’t hold back a bitter laugh. 

“Yeah, no hard choices for you, right? Not with your sister and servants to take care of ya’. You guys sit out here in the Rukongai like you’re one of us, but you’re no different from your cousins in the Seireitei. All flash, no substance.” 

“You want ‘substance,’ huh?” 

Renji’s speed was dulled, but he should have expected the fist grabbing the front of his yukata and dragging him forwards. Gangu’s face was red with anger, raised fist ready to smash into Renji’s nose. 

He waited for the impact, for the crunching of bone and the spurting of blood down his face, filling his mouth with fresh iron. What was a punch to the face at this point? What was a third degree burn, a broken rib, a busted ankle? No different than a crushed body, a shredded inside, a body cut to ribbons by a thousand swords. He’d seen it all before.

Renji had been hurt in so many ways, by so many people, in such a variety of scenarios. Before having his powers taken, he was sure that he was getting close to not feeling pain at all. Like he would just cap out his capacity for agony and everything beyond that would be a big, fat zero. 

Now, what choice did he have but to accept it? 

Ganju’s knuckles never made contact. Just hung in the air, and the face of vivid aggression began to dull off of his face. Renji thought at first it might be confusion, or disappointment that Renji wasn’t putting up more of a fight. 

“You’re different. Something in your face.” He finally said. “You’re different than how you were.” 

Somehow, Renji knew what he meant. 

Different than how he was than when he fought Ichigo. When he arrested Rukia. When he was full of that brutal ambition, a need to become strong even if it meant consuming the weak. It truly did feel like centuries ago. 

He was different. Had been different. Had been becoming different for a long time now, this was just his latest transformation.  
  


_If you’re patient, fireflies will come right up and land on your hand._

It was the rest of the world that always stayed the same.

Underneath the two men, the floor shook violently. There was a machine roar coming from deep below that made Renji look down nervously, but Ganju only had an expression of mild annoyance on his face. This, after all, was something he was used to. His family’s legacy.

To Renji, though, it sounded like thunder beginning under the ground and quickly moving up through the floor and into the sky, followed by an ear-splitting whistle. It was a sound he had only heard before in a smaller frame; the sound of a firework being launched.

The explosion was so loud that even hundreds of miles above Renji’s head, it still rang in his ears. This was the power of the Shiba pyrotechnics, a blast so big and so loud it would even grasp the attention of the Seireitei. 

Now, Renji was sure that everyone he knew in Soul Society was watching the same sky. Ignited from its peaceful black into a fiery curtain of bright red. 

  
  



	10. Pop

There were fireworks. 

Each rocket burst into showers of red light, blooming like roses across the empty, black canvas of space. They showered the horizon of the Seireitei in their vivid light.

* * *

  
  


Their beauty, the fizzling pop of white light sparkling between the vibrant color, went largely unappreciated in the First Division. All that was seen of them within the Captain-Commander’s office was streaks of red flashing through the window and stretching across the floor. 

Momo stood behind Captain Hirako as they faced the Commander. She couldn’t see Shinji’s face, but she was sure that he had the same kind of lazy, relaxed smile that was mirrored on Kyoraku’s. It put an unnerving clench in her gut.

“Hirako-san, what do I owe the pleasure of your company so late in the evening?” Kyoraku asked. Though he spoke softly, Momo heard his voice bounce around the large room. 

“I figured it would be crazy for you to be in your office in the middle of the night. But I’m glad we came to check it out for ourselves before anything happened.” Shinji cocked his head. “Lo and behold, here you are. Burning the midnight oil, Shunsui?”

Another burst of crimson stars. Another flash across the white floors. Momo felt Tobuime grow hot at her waist, and resisted the urge to put her hands on the hilt. She did not want to do anything risky yet.

Still, she felt like Kyoraku could read her emotions plain on her face. His single eye flickered from Shinji to her, never losing that thin line of a smile. 

“Well, it pays to be vigilant.” 

“Alright, let’s cut the crap before this gets tedious.” Shinji’s voice dropped all pretense of warmth in an instant. He nodded his head towards the window and the noisy outside. “You came down here when you saw the little light show out there.”

Kyoraku’s smile didn’t falter at all. “I did.”

“You think it’s Abarai.”

“Yes.”

“You were gonna call the captains to go after him.” 

If Momo were more generous, she would say Kyoraku almost looked sad. She saw his eye darken, with the lines of age written around it. 

But she had used up all her sympathy years ago. She inhaled and waited for the answer. 

“Wouldn’t you do the same thing in my position?”

Shinji’s voice dripped with disappointment. Without his usual humor, he sounded terribly cold. “That’s an awful assumption to make.”

“I know what you think.” Kyoraku’s face turned upwards, staring up at the ceiling, and he exhaled a weary sigh. “You think that I won’t mind sacrificing the happiness of a single vice-captain if it means keeping the peace in Soul Society. That I won’t lose sleep over Abarai going to prison. But you’re wrong. I’ve thought about this every possible way.” 

“Didn’t ask, don’t care.” Shinji said darkly. “Lucky for you there’s another option, where you stay here and don’t do anything.” 

Kyoraku looked back down and spread his arms out. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it? So you’re going to keep me here against my will, then? That doesn’t seem wise.”

“Probably not. But it’s getting boring around here, and I got comfortable following my own rules in the human world. Never thought I’d miss being exiled.”

“Fair enough. There’s no helping it, then.”

His eye moved. Momo saw it in an instant, a slow and subtle slide to a place behind Shinji’s head, where the shadows gathered in the corner of the room. 

Her feet moved before she even saw the blue bolt of kido fire, rushing to block Shinji’s back with her body. “Snap, Tobiume!”

A blistering orange orb of fire flew from Momo’s sword, whistling with steam until it collided with the kidou attack in a burst of fierce, turbulent heat. Black scorch marks smeared the pristine walls and floors. Smoke streamed from Nanao’s palm, her face a grim mask of determination.

Momo felt her heart twist, even as she gripped her sword with both hands. Was this how it was again? Allies pitted against each other, divided by loyalties. Why did it always end up this way?

Nanao was not just anybody to Momo, either. They had been friends for years. They traded books back and forth, notes folded between the pages like a secret code between them. Even after Aizen’s betrayal, when Momo felt weak and alone and like she would die, she still had those notes with elegant, swooping handwriting tucked into her desk drawer. 

“Hinamori,” Nanao said. Her smooth, graceful hands crackled with energy, palms flat. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” Was the only answer Momo had to give. 

There was an oppressive weight over the entire room. Kyoraku and Shinji faced each other at one end of the room, while Momo and Nanao stood over the door. The air was tight. Shallow.

“It seems we are in quite a sticky situation.” Kyoraku said.

* * *

  
  


There were fireworks. 

Captain Soi Fon noticed them. Of course she noticed them. Nothing happened in the Seireitei without her noticing it. And though the fireworks were technically outside of the Seireitei and thus outside her jurisdiction, you could have bet that the moment one of her stealth officers noticed the blitz of crimson, they reported it to her immediately. 

What had  _ not _ come to her, however, was any solid evidence connecting Abarai and the fireworks at all. But Soi Fon was the head of inside intelligence, punishments and assassinations. She had made far more brutal decisions based on far less proof. 

This was her job, after all. She investigated potential threats. She kept the peace. She kept  _ order _ . The previous captain-commander understood this, and Kyoraku was finally starting to come around to the plain fact. Abarai was destined for the Maggots’ Nest. Perhaps he had been from the moment he first rebelled against them, years ago.

She left for her office as soon as the first sound of whistling and popping interrupted the night. Each one was a noisy, profane interruption of the rigidly held peace. The Second Division had around-the-clock guards, and Soi Fon addressed the first one she saw immediately. 

“Wake up Omeada. Then assemble the first squad executive militia.” 

“Yes, Captain.” 

The guard took off at a sprint down the hall.

He reached the door. Then halted suddenly. With a sudden shudder, man’s body turned frigid and still, petrified to stone. 

Rage curdled in Soi Fon’s chest, and she had half-a-mind to berate him for wasting even a moment of time. But she knew an officer of the Second would never intentionally dawdle, especially in front of their captain.

She watched him fall to the floor, and Otoribashi Rose gave her an apologetic bow and a smile. 

“Please excuse my rudeness, Captain Soi Fon. Though you may rest assured that your subordinate is unharmed and merely sleeping. Senseless and impersonal slaughter is always something I try to avoid.”

Soi Fon’s lip curled. She had always known the visoreds were nothing but trouble. “I’ll have your head for this.”

Rose straightened his posture, the willowy angles of his body making his robes billow and hang off of his frame like a puppet. His smile burned with a mix of emotions-- sorrow, disappointment, regret, anticipation, elation. 

“Oh, Captain.” Kinshara glittered gold in his hand. “I would not deny you the pleasure of trying.”   
  


* * *

There were fireworks. 

Hanataro felt a twist in his gut as he watched them. They reminded him of the spider lilies that Captain Unohana used to tend to in the gardens, the swooping red petals curving outwards. He often wondered when Isane was going to start weeding the garden, as it had become overgrown lately. 

He wrung his hands, and could not stop himself from looking over nervously to his lieutenant. Isane was in charge now. She pulled her sleeping yukata tighter over her shoulders as they stood on the barracks’ porch together. 

He knew that Isane was very sad, and he felt like a voyeur for standing in the presence of her grief and bringing his own anxieties close to her. 

“You’re worried about him, right?” Isane’s voice was soft. She towered over Hanatato in such a way that when he looked up, she saw her haloed in the crimson light. “It’s alright. It’s natural to be concerned over a former patient.” 

Hanataro looked down, continued to study his own hands as he twisted his knuckles. He knew what everyone was saying about Renji. He had seen this play out before, just like with Rukia.

Even in the medical division, all shinigami were obligated to follow the law. They were required to arrest criminals at any cost. 

“What should we do, C-- Lieutenant?” He cursed himself for the slip, but Isane pretended not to notice. 

She watched the lights. Hanataro had no doubt that she was thinking of spider lilies. 

“There are no orders from the First Division. Nobody has been dispatched.” Isane said. “So the only thing to do, I guess, is try to enjoy the show.”

They stood together like that and watched the colors dance across the black sky. Each thundering boom felt like it was far away and too close at the same time. 

Hanataro knew full well that as acting captain Isane could dispatch her own units whenever she wanted. She could fulfill her duty of upholding the law as much or as little as she pleased. 

He also knew that underneath her placid, soft surface, there was a primal hatred tearing at Isane’s heart. That she struggled every day to contain that vicious resentment towards the man who had sacrificed the woman that she loved. 

Unohana was dead. The garden was full of weeds. 

She would not lift a finger to help Kyoraku. 

* * *

  
  


There were fireworks. 

Byakuya saw them from the window to his bedroom, a cup of hot tea in his hands. He had not seen Rukia at home for a few days, and with the noise already keeping him awake he took the opportunity to stay up and wait for her. 

He kept waiting, hoping to feel her cool presence as she entered the estate and went dutifully to her bedroom. That was all he wanted. For her to be safe. For her to stay out of the spotlight for once, and not get into trouble. 

But she could not. She was not like her sister; Hisana had been gentle, and sickly, and did not want much of anything except to be left alone and die in peace. Her life had been limited, both by her health and by the role that the Kuchiki Clan assigned her. She had never been in a position to take risks. 

Maybe on some level, Byakuya kept expecting Rukia to be like Hisana. Rukia’s face was a perfect mirror of her sister’s, sometimes when he looked at her it still felt like glancing at Hisana’s ghost. 

But Rukia was stubborn, and had a rebellious streak to her that no amount of pressure to be the perfect noble daughter could stomp out. It was as impossible to change her nature as it was to change Renji’s. 

He sipped his tea, and watched another explosion of red wash over the sky. He should be out there. To do what, though? To take Renji’s side, or to bring him in? Byakuya’s honor had already been injured, he couldn’t let people think he was becoming soft. 

No. Renji would be fine. He didn’t need help. He never needed help. He always came back. Sometimes Renji would act out, but in the end he always did as he was told and returned back to his proper place. Like the perfect guard dog should. 

Byakuya’s stomach churned. He knew he should not be thinking such things.

He waited for Rukia to come home. He would wait all night if he had to.

* * *

  
  


There were fireworks. 

Mashiro could hear them even in the middle of the Seireitei, even underground. The sound of them was deafened, but she had much better hearing than most people. She was sensitive to the vibrations that rumbled under her feet. Each explosion sounded like a distant roll of an ocean wave. It was almost soothing.

She would have a lot to say to Kensei when she was done here, believe her! Why did he always give her the most annoying tasks to do! Why make her evacuate the Seireitei during the Blood War? Why couldn’t he go to the WotL himself to ask Hachi for help? Why did  _ she _ have to be the one running around! Totally lame. 

Mashiro’s bag bounced against her hip as she scurried through the Central 46 compound. She had never been here before, and her impulse was to take her time snooping around. After all, it wasn’t like the guards would be stopping her. Mashiro was kind of disappointed with how easy they were to knock out, they hadn’t even seen her coming.

But no, Kensei told her to be quick. Well, he had no idea just how quick she could be. 

She opened the flap of her shoulder bag and pulled out another long, thick strip of paper. Hachi’s writing was written on each one in perfect black ink, drawn up in his very polite and proper handwriting. Each one radiated with a powerful, protective energy, thousands of years forbidden from the modern Kidou Corps. Mashiro slapped the paper talisman against the door, and together their kido energy weaved together to form an invisible barrier.

There would be no emergency orders or call to assembly by Central 46. For once, they would be silent, and it wouldn’t be because of Aizen this time.

  
  


Mashiro finished even faster than she had expected, and skipped out of the compound completely unhindered. It was easy enough to sense Kensei’s spiritual energy, because it was so very familiar to her. His presence was always heavy, like a dark stormcloud rolling in over a blue sky. 

She found him sitting on the walls with his knee propped up and his arm slung over his leg. Perched on top the huge, white stone barriers that circled all of the Seireitei, he looked like a stone statue set up there to watch over everyone, bracing the weather and wear. 

She looked up at him from the ground, and put her hands on her hips. 

“You’re going to hurt your old man back if you sit like that!” Mashiro wagged her finger at him. “Dummy Kensei!”

“Shut up!” He barked back without a second thought. Mashiro knew he was trying to be serious. He was trying to pretend that he wasn’t excited, eagerly jumping at the opportunity to help their dear Shuuhei and disrespect the Gotei at the same time. Honestly, he was so immature sometimes!

It grated, you know. The fear and loathing. Being looked at like a monster. The pretending like everything was fine, and 100 years of exile had never happened. Mashiro hadn’t felt at home since coming back to the Ninth, the beast inside of her still recoiled from the stench of its lies. But that was fine, because she had not felt at home anywhere since. 

Maybe this was exactly what she had been waiting for. Her and Kensei and Shinji and Rose. It was a shame the others wouldn’t be here to watch their rebellion.

Mashiro felt it begin. Like a current of electricity, there was movement shifting within the Seireitei. Kensei grunted as he got up to stand, his feet balanced atop the wall. 

“Here they come.” 

Black-clad figures appeared on the rooftops. The wind whipped at their shinigami robes. The fireworks stained their white, porcelain masks a gummy, fleshy pink. 

Kensei drew Tachikaze. And Mashiro could tell, even under the fireworks, that a storm was brewing.

* * *

  
  


There were fireworks. 

Toshiro had made a promise to Rangiku. And as much as he told himself that he didn’t care what she thought of him, he knew that was a lie. 

It would be much easier to tell himself lies if he knew where she was right now, though. 

* * *

  
  


There were fireworks. 

Ikkaku and Yumichika were ready to go the instant those rockets hit the sky. That curtain of blood-red was the backdrop to their last-minute preparations, grabbing their weapons and ready to leave. 

There was no debate between them, no squabbling back and forth about whether it was worth it. (Not that they often squabbled in the first place. People assumed that they argued a lot in private, they could not imagine that two personalities such as them could be so well in tune with each other. Did not realize they had always been a deadly duet.) 

There had been an understanding since the very beginning that doing as they pleased might get them in trouble some day. Why not make it today?

That was what Ikkaku kept reminding himself. Admitting that he was doing it for Renji felt too heavy, somehow. It conjured memories of a very lonely, very ambitious red-headed young man who relentlessly hounded Ikkaku to become his mentor. Thinking about it made him sad, and being sad made him agitated. There had never been a more diligent student, and Ikkaku never saw so much raw potential. 

Yumichika didn’t need to hear the words to know that Ikkaku was terribly sentimental. And he did owe Renji for keeping an eye on Ikkaku for him all those years. Who was he to reject another excited adventure?

They were almost at the gate out of the Eleventh Division when the red fireworks burst again, and a dark shadow loomed overhead in the sudden flash of light. Ikkaku and Yumichika halted, mere feet away from the exit, and for the first time felt even slightly afraid. 

“Where the hell’re you two running off to in a hurry?” 

Kenpachi stood behind them. As large and as solid as he had ever been. A mountain of a man. 

(Though to say he was unchanged would not be true. Everyone had lost something during the war, and not even a man like Kenpachi Zaraki was immune. The Eleventh Division was a little less boisterous, a little less joyful since she went away.

In fact, if you dared listen to Yumichika in a dark, quiet corner, he might be inclined to let you know he had seen gray streaks beginning to sprout from Kenpachi’s temple. Every day, he got a little bit older, and every day he got a little bit whiter. In a mere few years, there would be streaks of silver mixed in with the unruly, black mane)

Both men turned around to face their captain. Yumichika’s eyes darted to Ikkaku imploringly, and Ikkaku kept his gaze stubbornly fixed on their leader. 

“We’re gonna find Abarai.”

“Yeah?” Kenpachi took a long,  _ long _ moment to consider this. His eyes seemed to be looking at something far away, picking out the shadows underneath the explosions of red. 

Finally, he turned his back. His feet dragged back to his bed. “Sounds troublesome. Don’t take too long.”

Renji had once been a member of his pack. The Eleventh never forgot its own. 

“Kill the fuckers.”

* * *

  
  


There were fireworks.

They were neither seen nor heard within the depths of the Twelfth Division. The reinforced, sound-proof walls of the laboratories were too thick. The subterranean rooms let no natural light in. It was dark and dry, the only illumination was harsh fluorescent lighting that hung from the ceiling in narrow hallways. 

Akon saw the fireworks on the surveillance monitors, though. Mechanical eyes affixed to the roof of the Twelfth fed into several screens, showing him a grainy video of lights and stars and the outside world. 

He lit a cigarette and considered just deleting the footage. It wasn’t terribly interesting to him, so he didn’t want to make a thing out of it. But he changed his mind at the last second, and went to the mortician’s lab that served as his captain’s office. 

It was never pleasant here. At least, Akon thought, when Urahara was captain there had been some nice days. Sometimes it was even fun. The current arrangement of the grounds bore no resemblance to the one Kisuke had organized, or that Hiyori had stormed through during her tirades. 

Akon found Kurotsuchi stooped over his latest project, the smell of harsh chemicals hitting him in the face like a physical force as soon as he opened the door. 

He was stooped over, working on something laid out on a long, metal table. It was covered by a white sheet, but the shape’s curves and proportions reminded Akon of a female figure. A strand of black hair hung off the edge of the table. 

“Captain,” Akon took his cigarette out of his mouth and pretended to be very interested in the door frame that he leaned against. He was a man of the Twelfth, and probably one of the least squeamish people in all Soul Society, but looking at the thing under the sheet made his skin crawl. “There’s some commotion going on in the Rukongai.” 

Mayuri didn’t even look at him. Akon heard the gentle clicking of metal utensils, and a bothered voice tearing at his ears. “I see. And so you decided to interrupt me? You enjoy wasting my time? Do enlighten me, Lieutenant, why I should care.” 

“The Captain-Commander might want you to do something about it.”

“ _ The Captain-Commander might want me to do something about it _ . Stupid boy. What division do you think you’re in?” He hissed mockingly, straightening up and finally turning to Akon. “Listen here, Akon. You do not serve Kyoraku. You serve me. You concern yourself with my orders, and no one else’s! Now as long as you’re taking up space here, go to the chemical supply cabinet and fetch me the isotonic saline. And don’t distract me again, or I’ll solve the behavior by pulling your tongue out of your head.” 

This was all fairly typical. When Nemu had been alive, she obviously bore the brunt of Kurotsuchi’s abuse. Now Akon supposed that made him the new Nemu. 

There was something very karmatic about that. 

“So you don’t want me to do anything about the explosions outside?”

“No, I want you to stand around like an oaf and babble about peasant light shows!” Kurotsuchi snapped. Apparently satisfied with that outburst, he turned his back to the door. The captain drew his hand down the shape reverently. A dark liquid was spreading out from the middle of the sheet. 

Akon went dutifully to the medical cabinet, leaving his captain with his future victim.

The door opened to reveal a wall of glass jars, holding fluids of every color and consistency. All of them had a paper label on the surface to identify what it was. In an environment such as the Twelfth, it was the most critical thing in the world to correctly label your samples. There was everything within these walls from fast-acting acid to perfectly preserved eyeballs. 

Akon’s eyes fell on two jars of similar size. Both were filled with clear fluid, a few flecks of white particles stagnating at the bottom of the containers.

One was the harmless saline solution. The other one was the volatilely explosive TATP compound. 

Out of curiosity more than anything, Akon slipped his fingernail underneath the label of the TATP. It came away quite easily. It was further scientific curiosity that led him to switch the labels, replacing them perfectly against the glass jars. 

Akon picked up the jar with the isotonic saline label on it and went back to his captain.

* * *

  
  


There were fireworks. 

Rukia and Ichigo watched them from the windows of the Thirteenth Division. The white spirals of smoke, shattering into a million fragments of light that dyed Ichigo’s hair a bloody scarlet. Each one left behind a gray imprint floating in the sky, clinging to their retinas.

They knew those fireworks could only come from one place, and that was all they needed to know.

It felt, in a way, familiar to be rushing into danger with Ichigo by her side once again. They had done so many rescue missions like this, diving in to save a friend in need. Maybe it was only natural that Renji would bring the old gang back together like this, becoming the missing piece that drew them in. 

That was an overly optimistic way to look at it. Rukia shouldn’t think about Renji’s life so lightly. 

“You know the Narcissus Order is going to know he’s there too, right?” Rukia reminded Ichigo. “Keep your guard up.” 

Even without breaking stride to look at him, Rukia could hear that arrogant scowl in his voice. “Don’t boss me around! Worry about keeping up.” 

He shot on ahead of her, and Rukia increased her pace to keep up until she felt the earth fly under her feet. 

This, she realized, was what she was for. Not for paperwork, or for playing politics and scheming like she had been doing before. Maybe not even for leading. It was this. 

She was for saving people.

* * *

  
  


There were fireworks.

The sky above them was smeared ashy with smoke. Through the curtain of gray, the blooms of crimson across the stars looked pink. A stubborn, earnest spring. A persistent, beating heart. 

Perhaps it was foolishness, that it wasn’t at all a question in Izuru’s mind that it was Renji. No one else could burn so brightly, could deliver such warmth to a lonely and cold sky. Despite himself, standing in the ruins of his beloved home, Izuru’s heart pounded against his chest. Once again in his lowest moment, Renji had come to bring him some hope. 

If there  _ had  _ been any doubt, Izuru would have cast it away as soon as he sensed Rukia and Ichigo’s energy moving towards the source of the fireworks, way out in the districts. If he and Shuuhei left now, they might even get there faster. 

Izuru squeezed Shuuhei’s hand. Neither of them could do this alone. “Are you ready?”

Shuuhei had both Zabimaru and Kazeshini tucked at his hip, next to each other. He looked back at Izuru with high brows and an affirming nod. As if it were the easiest decision in the world. “You don’t need to ask. You already know I am.”

“We could be walking into a trap.”

“We could.” Shuuhei agreed. “But you know we’ll do whatever is necessary.” 

Izuru did know this. That wasn’t why Shuuhei was saying it. 

Neither of them enjoyed killing. They did not relish the extinguishing of a life, and they knew Renji didn’t enjoy that part either. But it was Izuru and Shuuhei who tried to build their principles around avoiding fights, finding the peaceful solution. When it came down to battle, the obligation usually fell on Renji. 

But they were vengeful, atrocious people, the two of them. The depths of their cruelty could surpass Renji’s in an instant, and in that way they needed him. He kept them honorable. 

Their restraint had been stolen. And now they would kill whoever was responsible. 

And they would drink in that violence like the sweetest wine. Just this once, they would enjoy it.

They left the piles of ashes and debris behind, following the ghostly, crimson trails of the fireworks. It was a beacon to call them home. A lighthouse to guide them to shore. 

Izuru felt he was so close now. So close to seeing Renji’s face again. To hearing his laugh and smelling the scent of him and tracing his tattoos and running his fingers through Renji’s hair. Izuru didn’t need the house. He didn’t need the politics or the Seireitei. He needed to have Renji back with him. 

Izuru was going to recover his lost love. Anyone who tried to stop him would regret the day they were born.


	11. Symmetry

“For the last time, get away from the goddamn window before I put your head through it!” 

Renji reluctantly pulled the curtains back, turning over his shoulder to give Kuukaku a churlish look. To be fair to her, he was being kind of a pill. 

He hadn’t slept all night. He was too… what? Nervous? Excited? Scared? All of it. Renji had waited for dawn with pins and needles. 

He wanted to see his friends again. But with that came the unavoidable confrontation with Gensei. Every minute that passed felt like it was pulling Renji closer and closer to that volatile eruption of violence. Unable to deviate from the path, all Renji could do was watch himself slowly creep towards it. 

Renji wanted to make it through this and come out stronger on the other side. He wanted to do more than just survive by the skin of his teeth. He wanted the happy end that he deserved. 

Yeah, right. Since when had that ever been a guarantee for him? After everything he had been through, Renji should be jaded enough to know that there was no karma, and no rhyme or reason to how the universe worked. 

Some people were exceptions. Some people had great fates predestined for them, or special abilities delivered to them by rare and powerful bloodlines. But for everyone else in the world, it seemed like destiny just didn’t have the time to care for nobodies. Maybe bad things were just going to keep happening, forever, and with no reward at the end of it for all the suffering and hard work.

It didn’t help that the energy in the Shiba house was feeling very grim. Everyone was on edge, waiting for something to happen. At this point, any kind of attack might almost feel like a relief, cutting through the tendons of suspense.

Well, that was easy to say now. 

“You said that you were sure the barrier was gonna hold.” Renji said. “Does me looking out the window suddenly break the spell or something?”

Kuukaku flashed her teeth, looking irate. Renji felt bad about antagonizing her, especially because she could probably rip him limb-from-limb, but no one was in especially high spirits anyways.

“I said it was  _ strong _ . Any spell can be broken. So stop giving the enemy a clear shot at the head of the person they’re trying to kill!” 

Lovely. Renji melted against the wall and sulked. He desperately longed something to do in this situation. Some way to help, other than sit around and wait to be whisked away from distress. Or into it.

That was impossible, though. The only thing Renji had been any good at was fighting. He wasn’t cunning like Izuru, or clever like Shuuhei. He didn’t boister people’s spirits like Rukia. He couldn’t do kidou like Momo or turn into a superpowered fucking monster like Ichigo. Renji was just a guy whose crazy stubbornness led him to get in way over his head. 

And stubborn as he was, Renji couldn’t bear to let go of the last shards of his pride by slinking away somewhere to cower. And so. Window. He waited until Kuukaku’s back was turned to peek through the shutters again, nose pressed up against the cold glass.

“Oh shit.” 

Kuukaku turned. “What is it now?”

Renji tapped his finger against the blinds, and let Kuukaku push past him to squint outside. 

They had arrived. Wind rolled over the wide, green field, sending ripples through the sea of grass. So too did the wind catch and billow the black robes draped around the standing figures. Black robes that Renji himself had worn thousands of times, one day of service for each uniform present. 

The white-faced figures stood still, statuesque as the air swirled all around them and tugged at the loose folds of their shihakushos. They reminded Renji of scarecrows, but that would have been preferable. He would have taken even emotionally life-sized dolls stitched out of straw and cloth over real, flesh-and-blood people. People that he had worked with, perhaps even talked and laughed with. All the while, they were secretly hating him just for existing. 

“They’re just standing there.” Kuukaku frowned. The morning light through the blinds cast dark stripes across her pinched face. “What are they waiting for?”

Renji shrugged, just as puzzled. He felt a bead of sweat trace a cold stripe down his temple. “For you to give me up, maybe? They could have thought that the fireworks were your way of signalling to them. Or that if they closed in on us like this, you’d get scared enough to turn me over.”

“Keep waiting, assholes.” Kuukaku grunted, her voice was hard and gritty. Renji gnawed on his guilt a little more. 

Footsteps pounded against the floor and rounded the corner, and Ganju rushed forward with an expression of mounting panic. His breath heaved in his chest. “Did you see--”

“Yes.” Kuukaku cut him off. She shut the blinds tightly. 

“They surrounded the house. What’dya want to do now, Sis?”

Kuukaku scratched her neck. With her spiked black hair and agitated mood, she looked especially prickly. Renji didn’t need to guess to know that she was not the kind of person who tolerated being shoved into a corner.

“From what we know about them, there may be more than we can see hiding in our blindspots. But the longer we sit around and do nothing, the more time it gives them to organize and figure out a way to cut through our defenses.” She said carefully, the gears in her brain churring. “We can open the door, and I’ll quickly fire off a Raikōhō and then retreat back inside and board back up. That may disrupt them and buy us time until reinforcements arrive.”

Doubt stabbed at Renji. “We need to be careful. Gen-- one of them has the abilities that ate up my powers. If he does the same to you, we’re down one person who can defend the house.”

Not to mention that with those masks, it was impossible to tell if Gensei was out there or which one he even was. The idea that he might be standing out there and watching Renji even now made his throat dry up.

Ganju’s eyes flickered to his sister, his face lined with worry. “He’s got a good point. Maybe we oughta use the Flower-Crane Canon to attack?”

“We’d be in range of the blast! You want to blow us all sky-high before the enemy gets the chance to do it?” 

“But it’s not safe--”

“Since when do you wring your hands about safety, huh? I know what I’m doing, and I know the risks!”

Renji groaned and banged his head back against the wall. It was bad enough he was being hunted across Soul Society, but it was just his luck to be bunkered down with bickering siblings. 

Maybe he really shouldn’t have come here in the first place. Now Kuukaku and Ganju had to think about what was best for their family. They wouldn’t risk each other’s lives over a practical stranger. They shouldn’t even be asked to. 

He couldn’t help himself. Renji peeked out the window again. There had to be some answer, some clue or tool that he could use, like the lantern in the basement, that would grant him his freedom. 

He was greeted once again by the field of black-robed specters. Each one of them had pretended to be Renji’s ally. To be on the same side as him, maybe just to lull him into a false sense of security. And he fucking took the bait, thinking he was really accepted. 

It took until that moment for the fact to really sink in. The entire time Renji had been in the Seireitei, the whole time Renji put his own body on the line to save Soul Society, these people hated him. People that Renji walked past every day wanted to hurt him and thought he was lower than dirt. The only reason they even pretended to respect him was because he was a vice-captain.

And yes, Renji had always known this. He came into the academy with the truth written on his heart, knowing that he would never truly be accepted here. He would never really be safe. 

But over time he had become comfortable with the way things were. And because the Inuzuri was all he’d known before, being comfortable was good enough. Renji could habituate to the evil radiating under the surface of the Gotei, as long as it served a greater purpose. And as long as he had the illusion of belonging. 

Being subconsciously aware of that was one thing, it was another to have the physical evidence shoved in his face non-stop.

Renji’s head felt light as he looked out at this field, this small ocean of impersonal enemies. It was then that he saw one of the figures move. A hand lifted up to touch it’s mask, hand curling in on itself to hold a single finger up to it’s covered mouth

Slowly, the mask was lifted. And it was no surprise to accompany the reveal. 

Gensei smiled at Renji. Of course he did. He would never miss an opportunity to see Renji grapple with fear. He wouldn’t dare to miss it. 

And though Renji knew Gensei would come back, though he had filled his imagination with fantasies of beating the man bloody and senseless in a vengeful rage, Renji suddenly found he couldn’t move from that spot. He was frozen. Trapped. 

Gensei’s lips moved. He was saying something, but was too far away to be heard. Renji pressed himself against the window, squinting and trying to force himself to study Gensei’s face to make out the words he was forming. 

  
  


_ Missed you, Firefly. _

  
  


Cracks spread across the barrier that surrounded the house. Renji watched a huge, jagged scar spider web across his vision. The barrier flickered between visibility and invisibility, before finally bleeding a faded, purple hue and shattering before his eyes. 

The wall burst inwards. Renji heard Kuukaku swear and Ganju scream, but mostly he heard the sound of his own skull hitting the ground as the blast launched him off his feet. Stars popped in Renji’s eyes, his lungs gasped for the air that had been knocked out of him. 

_ Get up. Get up! _ Renji rolled onto his side and tried to find his footing. There was broken glass and splintered wood all around him. Gensei had been waiting for Renji to come back to the window, knowing Renji would want to keep him in his sight. Kuukaku had been right, Renji made himself a perfect target. Fuck. Fuck  _ everything. _

He felt a hand grab at his arm, Ganju pulled Renji up to his feet. “Hey, up and ‘attem!” 

Renji did his best to stay steady on his feet. He hated how he was used to getting thrown around like a ragdoll now. “Where’s Kuukaku?” 

He followed Ganju’s eyes up to a mountain of rubble. Kuukaku stood at the top, the shinigami closing in on her. 

If Renji weren’t so preoccupied, he would find it stunning to watch; no matter what angle the enemy attacked at, Kuukaku deflected their strikes with a bare hand and well-timed kidou. Scarlet waves of energy exploded around her. It seemed like she would be able to take on the entire army by herself.

A glint of metallic bronze appeared as a small flash in the sky, and then grew larger as it flew closer. It soared in like a missile towards Kuukaku, who just barely managed to duck out of the way. Where the strike hit, a cloud of dust and stone erupted. 

“She needs help.”

“You idiot!” Ganju dragged Renji away, with his hands gripping the back of Renji’s collar. “She’s buying us a chance to escape by distracting them!” 

They started to run, though Renji didn’t have the faintest idea where they could go now. The nearest town? That would just get destroyed, too. There was truly nowhere he could hide now. 

The ruined grounds of the Shiba house made for uneasy terrain under Renji’s feet. He and Ganju scrambled over the rocks and shattered wood on their hands and feet, and Renji had the uncanny feeling of being back in the war. 

To think he would ever miss those days. At least the Wanderiech’s campaign against him was impersonal, a simple matter of a Quincy blood feud. There was a sense of immortality during that fight, the confidence that now Renji had been acknowledged by Squad Zero, therefore he was above death. He was part of a legacy. 

Suddenly, Ganju halted in his tracks, and Renji stumbled to a stop next to him. 

A looming, large figure blocked their back. Gensei stood taller than Renji had ever seen him before, unnaturally bloated from gorging himself on stolen reiatsu. Teeth were bared in a terrible grin, a mask of empty joy that more resembled a skull than a human expression. He was an empty shell of a person, filled with gleeful malice where a soul should be.

“Good morning, boys.” 

Renji felt a heavy dread weigh down his body. There was no squeezing out of this one. 

Without an ounce of hesitation, Ganju reached into the folds of his robes and brought out a softball sized bomb in his hand. With a wide swing of his arm, the bomb sailed directly towards Gensei’s face and burst into yellow smoke. 

Renji knew better by now than to expect the best. 

Even as the saffron curls of smoke and chemicals were still wafting through the air, a black flash moved in front of Renji’s eyes. He held in his breath as Gensei’s grin loomed above him. 

He saw the silver flash of a sword, one that Renji had seen only once before but already was far too familiar with. Blood ran down the narrow edge of it’s blade. Ganju crumpled onto the ground like folded paper, a dark stain of red ink spilling down his front. 

The smell of blood reeked metallic and familiar in Renji’s nose. Despite the present danger standing directly in front of him, Renji gave into his instincts to try and catch Ganju. He couldn’t let someone die here because of him. 

But a fist clenched the back of Renji’s robes, and Renji felt the earth disappear under his feet as he was yanked off the ground and tossed to the side like a sack of potatoes. A grunt escaped him as the ground slammed into his back.

A silver blade appeared next to Renji’s wrist, narrowly missing his skin and impaling his sleeve against the ground. Ganju’s blood dripped down the steel and soaked into the fabric. 

He looked up to see Gensei kneeling over him. The man’s face glowed with self-satisfaction. His glee was as blinding as looking into the Sun. This was exactly what he had wanted since the beginning. 

“I owe you an apology, Firefly. You were much more wily than I took you for! Your acting skills were top-notch, honestly! You really made me believe that you had given up.” Gensei’s voice was dripping honey-sweet. Renji pulled his hand away, shredding the sleeve. He tried to sit up on his elbows, to calculate another escape. “And that move setting the hide-out on fire? That was truly inspiring, I was so impressed I couldn’t help but steal your idea.” 

Gensei retracted his zanpakuto, and in one swift move he threw the hilt of it against Renji’s shoulder and knocked him onto his back. Renji couldn’t smother a groan of pain, and gripped his shoulder with his other hand. 

“Though of course there is someone who wasn’t very pleased at all; Masao! He was on watch when you set the house aflame, so I’m sure he’ll have words for you.”

“Too bad he didn’t die.” Renji hissed, not too cowed to bare his teeth. 

“Not at all. To be completely straight with you, you look far worse from it than he does.” Gensei’s dark eyes scanned Renji’s face. He was definitely bigger now, his body seemed to block out the sky. 

But with careful, gentle surgeon’s hands he drew his sword up the length of Renji’s neck. Cold steel raised goosebumps across Renji’s skin. The sharp metal twisted to lay flat, and scooped up a strand of Renji’s shortened hair atop the wide part of the blade. A low chuckle echoed out of Gensei’s chest.

“I’m sorry, I really don’t mean to laugh. But you have to admit, it’s a little funny.” He lifted the sword away from Renji’s head, and Renji released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “Now, down to business. What do we have to do here to avoid such an accident in the future? Do I have to cut off your hand for you to understand?”

The edge of the sword drifted down. It glinted white as the light danced over the surface. Renji tried intently to sense Kuukaku nearby, but he couldn’t pick up on anything. Had she been knocked out by the blast? Or was she busy trying to fight for their her life?

“Maybe,” Gensei considered. “I should chop off your legs so you can’t run away anymore. That would be the simplest.” 

Renji heard his heartbeat in his ears. It couldn’t go like this. Not after everything he went through. He swallowed.

“Just do it then. Not like anything I say is gonna change your mind.”

Gensei cocked his head, the lines on his forehead creased as if he hadn’t thought about this before. “I don’t know about that.” He leveled the blade over Renji’s knee. “You could try begging.” 

Renji squeezed his eyes shut. He braced himself for blood. For pain. He could always count on pain.

“Suit yourself.” 

  
  
  


He waited. He prayed for it to be over soon. He hoped to lose blood quickly and fade into unconsciousness. Let an agonizing sleep carry him away. 

But the pain he anticipated never landed. 

Instead, he felt an aura of fierce, solid warmth wash over him. There were a pair of arms that wrapped around him, so tight and so comforting that Renji almost recoiled from the sheer shock of such a feeling. A familiar presence blotted out the horror that Renji had just been flooded with. 

Renji was aware of Gensei, but he was now a good mile away from his kidnapper. The space where Renji had almost been cut was now empty, but there was still the fresh scent of blood. Gensei’s arm had a long gash, crimson oozing down his wrist.

He saw Shuuhei’s slender back, Kazeshini drawn, standing protectively in front of Renji. Blood dripped down the long, silver fang of his blade and onto the grass. A wild, ferocious torrent of protective determination rolled off of Shuuhei like the air currents of a storm. It tore at his hair and his clothes and his chains, looking borderline wild. 

The wiry arms wrapped around Renji’s shoulders belonged to Izuru. Izuru, who’s bony fingers gripped Renji’s arm and who bent his slight body around Renji’s larger frame, as if even with the difference of size between them Izuru believed he could shield all of Renji at once. He gripped like he would never let go. 

The dusty wind carded through Izuru’s blond hair, lifting his bangs up over two sharp blue eyes that pinned Gensei with murderous intent. 

“You won’t lay another finger on him.”

Gensei turned over his arm and watched the blood stream down his skin, as if he wasn’t even registering the physical sensation. Genuine surprise and, shockingly, anger spread across his face, setting his square jaw. 

“Lieutenants.” He said, his grim humor was strained. “What a pleasure to see you again.”

Was this a dream? It seemed too perfect to be true. Renji felt this forbidden, alien hope begin to spring inside of him. It was there as sure as Izuru’s slender arms were clutching his shoulders. 

“You guys are really here…” 

Another voice leapt to Renji’s ears, familiar and brazen and full of brave affection. “Of course they are! Did you really think they wouldn’t come?”

Rukia and Ichigo stood above, perched on the pile of rubble. Rukia had Sode no Shirayuki drawn, white ribbon proudly catching the breeze like a kite. Ichigo stood next to her, Ganju slung over his shoulder. 

“Hey, what about us?” Ichigo protested, adjusting an unconscious but certainly still alive Ganju. It had been nearly a year since Renji had seen Ichigo’s shinigami form, but he wore the uniform and the armor as naturally as a second skin. “We showed up, too!” 

Renji remembered this. He remembered showing up to save Rukia from her execution, the joy and the pride of rescuing someone he cared deeply about. The relief of seeing them escape death.

He saw that same joy written on Rukia and Ichigo’s shining faces now, almost as much as he felt the protective rage radiating off of Izuru and Shuuhei. 

It wasn’t just them, either. Renji could feel the familiar spiritual signature of others cutting through the blanket of danger and hostility that had covered the remains of the Shiba house. Ikkaku’s blistering crimson energy, roaring for the enemy to take him on. Yumichika’s more quiet, venomous aura cutting down those who tried to run from Ikkaku. 

He could hear the roll of grit, of thousands of tiny particles of ash grinding together as Rangiku drew her Haineko through the air and shredded through her prey. 

Renji felt something rising up through his chest, like a spike jutting through his heart from the bottom. He blinked, trying to swim through his own shock and grip at some shard of self-control. He didn’t want to start getting emotional in front of everyone now, how dumb would that look?

Despite all this, Renji couldn’t wipe the grin off of his face. They were all so stupid, showing up just for his sorry ass. Totally ridiculous.

The high whistling sound returned. That shining, bronze blur flew up, curving against the wind, and arced it’s flight pattern towards the hill of stone and interrupted their victorious reunion.

“Look out!” 

Rukia’s body tensed, and she rabbit-leapt out of the way of the impact. Ichigo, encumbered by Ganju’s body on his back, had barely enough time to shift out of range. The projectile hit the rocks with destructive force, the echo of vibrations shaking down to the ground.

The bronze pillar stayed there for a second, lodged like a flag into the pile of earth, before twitching. It launched itself back into the air, and flew to its wielder. Masao caught the javelin in one hand, the light flashing gold off of it’s smooth bronze exterior. 

A cold, dark presence passed over Renji. Rather, it wasn’t darkness, but the absence of light. In the corner of his eye, Renji saw a flash of Chiaki’s long hair as she dove down to where Ichigo had dodged to. 

“Kuchiki! Kurosaki!” Shuuhei’s voice grated with anger and fear. Just like that, they were separated again. 

“Shuuhei, focus!” Izuru squeezed Renji’s hand. His eyes scanned up and down, drinking in Renji’s physical, worn state. His choppy hair, his bruises and cuts. Renji saw the reflection of himself in those light eyes, widened with sympathetic distress. 

Even so, he was happy to see Izuru’s face again. It was like the first sip of cool water in a desert. A warm nurturing instinct was found in there.

“Are you hurt?” 

“No, ‘m fine.” Renji squirmed in Izuru’s grasp, pushing himself to sit up on his own. Izuru’s grip was reluctant to release, and it was tempting to sink into that familiar touch he had been missing so much. 

He couldn’t, though. Not yet. Gensei’s presence was obtrusive, obscene. His eyes glittered like insect shells as he drank in the two interloping lieutenants. 

“Ah, so it seems that people came after all. Renji is quite a lucky young man to have such good friends.” Gensei’s smile was so wide, so effortless, it seemed full of too many teeth. “It had been so long, I was sure you fellows were just on the cusp of giving up and forgetting about him entirely.” 

Shuuhei’s low voice was practically a growl-- a tone on him that Renji rarely ever heard. “Kira, you should get Renji out of here.” 

“Surely you know that I’m not leaving you. And certainly not missing  _ this _ .” Izuru stood over Renji, a protective specter, and Wabisuke glittered coldly in his hands. Something deep inside Renji wanted to argue. He wanted them-- all of them, to escape right now. 

It wasn’t worth it. He didn’t wish for his loved ones to come so that they could be in danger alongside him. The air all around them crackled with anticipation. 

Shuuhei shoulders heaved a sigh. “Suit yourself.” 

The wind picked up. A turbulent gust of air ripped at Shuuhei’s clothes as he held Kazeshini before him and split it into two. The black metal of the twin scythes dripped with cruelty. 

Renji’s arms and legs felt numb. It was as if he was having an out-of-body experience, watching all this occur as he floated, ghostlike, in the background. They wouldn’t lose, would they? No, of course not. Shuuhei and Izuru were both powerful, and they wouldn’t fall for Gensei’s cheap tricks. 

(But what if? What if it went wrong? What if they died? What would you do? This is all your fault.)

No, that was impossible. 

(A few weeks ago, you would have thought that all this was impossible, too. Now you’re stuck on the sidelines and completely useless. You should be the one fighting to protect them, not the other way around.)

He wouldn’t cry out. He wouldn’t beg them to run away and leave him, because they never would. And he wouldn’t cower and plead to be saved. 

He wouldn’t even cheer them on. Renji knew that they didn’t need any more encouragement to face Gensei down and kill him, without any hint of regret. 

But Renji would tighten his fists until his knuckles turned white. He would grit his teeth, and churn the equal measure of hope and dread that crashed around inside of him, and let his own thoughts ring from his head. 

Please win. 

Please win.

  
  


They closed in, Izuru and Shuuhei, ravenous in their hunt for revenge. And Gensei-- who Renji knew already was a coward, there was no way he would take them on in an honest right-- Gensei grimaced. 

“My, you boys look so serious.” He said. His bloody sword glistened like a great monster’s tooth. “I guess I’d better get serious, too.” 

His sword swung upwards, the pointed tip facing the sky and suddenly it was so, so dry. Renji felt a desert-like heat fall down from the Sun. A red, red river of scalding-hot raw power.

At first, Renji couldn’t recognize what it reminded him of. This was because it was his own. This was the power that had been ripped out of his body.

“ _ Sōō Zabimaru. _ ”

* * *

  
  


A distant explosion reached Ichigo’s ears, unnervingly close and yet disguised from sight. His eyes scanned the surroundings, the chaos of the shattered Shiba mansion and ruined earth, where had everyone gone?

Great. This really was just like the Blood War all over again, wasn’t it? Soul Society sucked.

He still had Ganju on his shoulders, Ichigo had to loop his arms under the broad man’s knees to keep a hold of him when dodging that javelin before. All that jostling around must have woken him up, because Ichigo was thanked by a low, unpleasant groan in his ear and the sound of what might have been Ganju spitting up blood on his robes.

“Hey, welcome back.” 

Ganju’s forehead rested limply against Ichigo’s shoulder. He smelled like blood. “Where’s Eyebrows?” 

“Dunno.” Ichigo frowned. His brows furrowed, and worry began to chew its way up to his chest. “... I’m sure Kira and Hisagi are taking care of him, though.” 

He tried not to focus on how different Renji had looked to him, during that brief glance where everyone had been reunited. Ichigo was no stranger to hitting the lowest lows, he knew that the version of yourself that hit rock bottom was not the version you wanted others to see.

It was a hard thing to live with, really. Ichigo didn’t think he was vain at all, but having someone look at you and see your weakest parts, your flaws and your despair, that stuff really hurt. You never got comfortable with being seen that way, vulnerable and defeated. Not when others desperately needed you to be okay. It felt like you were letting everyone down.

Ichigo had never thought of Renji as delicate. Not even close. Even at times when Renji bitched and moaned about being hurt, he would always shrug off displays of genuine concern with a roll of his shoulders and a blase expression. Deflect that worry onto someone else. Of course Renji wasn’t  _ really _ in pain, of course Renji was  _ always _ fine.

The last time Ichigo had seen Renji look even close to terrified was when Rukia was nearly executed. Even then, he had been scared but never so fragile. So close to breaking.

Ichigo pushed those thoughts away. It wasn’t fair to Renji to fixate on that. Ichigo hopped up on what had once been one of the pillars holding up the banner for the Shiba house. He needed to find a safe place for Ganju and then get back to helping Renji and the others. 

Dammit, he should have insisted that Orihime come with him, because he could really use a healer about now. But her job at the hospital meant Orihime had enough lives on the line to take care of. And Ichigo really had no idea things were going to go pear-shaped this quickly, so he had nothing prepared at all.

Ichigo picked a distant spiritual signature he could recognize and immediately headed in that direction. He would figure out the rest after he got there. 

A cold shadow quickly passed over Ichigo’s head. It was so fast that for a second, Ichigo thought he had merely blinked and imagined it. 

And then he heard it. One, single footstep landing next to him. A hunter closing in on its prey. 

Keeping an iron grip on Ganju, Ichigo rolled out of the way to dodge a short dagger jabbing at his neck. The ground flew under him as Ichigo skidded to a stop. 

Ichigo’s eyes darted around him, searching for his attacker. But they had vanished just as quickly as they had appeared. Ichigo didn’t like those odds when it came to outrunning. 

“Sorry, Ganju.” Ichigo tried to put down the dark-haired man as gently as he was able without assistance. “I need you to hang in there for a little longer, alright?”

He wouldn’t be able to protect Ganju on his back and fight at the same time, after all. Ichigo set the bigger man to rest against a sturdy looking piece of flat stone, where he was most likely to be sheltered from random attack. Gotta work with what you got.

Ichigo watched Ganju’s chest, stained red but steadily rising and falling. His eyes were closed, looking like he passed out again. Poor guy, he always seemed to get hurt when Ichigo was around.

There wasn’t a long time for him to mull over his thoughts. Panic surged coldly through Ichigo’s veins as he saw another shadow dart out of his vision. 

This time, there was a clattering and grinding of metal. Zangetsu’s larger blade was a broad shield against his assailant, the tip of their dagger sparking off of Ichigo’s blade. 

“Attacking someone when they’re tending to an injured person?” Ichigo grit his teeth, and pushed off the black-clad figure. They lept backwards easily, unphased by his counter. “You must be a real piece of shit.” 

“Exterminators don’t think of their honor when they’re killing rats.” 

Ichigo could finally see the person; a young woman, with long, shiny black hair tied out of her face. Black eyes bore out of her pale face, the sheer intensity of her gaze seemed to be trying to stab Ichigo where he stood. 

She reminded Ichigo of Soi Fon, and the cold disdain that dripped from her whenever Ichigo saw her. Reminded him of that phrase, ‘if looks could kill’. 

“So, what’s your deal then?” Ichigo adjusted Zangetsu in his right hand, and retrieved the second, smaller blade in his left, then took a stance to fight. “You have some kind of problem with Renji, yeah? I’m sure you’re just dying to tell me all about it. That’s usually how these things go.”

He watched the woman tilt her head at him, strands of her thick bangs falling against her face. The dagger remained gripped at her side. 

“You’re the substitute shinigami, aren’t you? You belong in the World of the Living, not here.” She said. “It doesn’t matter. You don’t need to know my name, because I’m going to kill you right here.” 

“I prefer to know the name of the person trying to kill me.” 

A disgusted noise crawled up her throat. “My name is Toyotomi Chiaki. You may like to know that I was the one who attacked and captured Abarai Renji. While the Gotei Thirteen abandoned him, my uncle and I were his jailers. After I take care of you, I’ll finish him off. I take it that’s enough of a reason for us to fight.”

There was no way around it, a flare of anger sparked inside Ichigo. He was sick of the people he cared about being taken from him and tormented. He was sick of those tormentors, always so distanced from the ones they hurt. Chiaki’s words oozed with a sick, sadistic pride, and Ichigo hated her for it.

He gripped Zangetsu, raising his blades defensively. “Then you’d better come at me seriously, because I won’t let happen again..” 

A thin, toothy snarl of a grin peeled across Chiaki’s face. The dagger raised, one hand gripping the hilt and the other dragging her finger over the blade. It gleamed iridescent, rainbow colors dancing over the metal as a violent energy swirled around.

_ “Wail, Mijime. _ ”

  
  


* * *

Dust fluttering on the wind, She could see it on the cusp of her vision, black eyelashes and black strands of her hair flecked with snowy white. This place had become dangerous. 

When this was all over, Rukia would need to visit Kaien and Miyako’s graves and apologize for the destruction of their family’s house. Kuukaku would inevitably brush off Rukia’s attempts to reimburse her for damages, but she could probably slide some expensive gifts to Ganju to help them rebuild. 

When this was over. When they had Renji back.

Rukia grit her teeth behind her lips. Looking at Renji had been like looking into a mirror. She saw herself as she had been when she was imprisoned, exhausted from dangling on the edge of hopelessness. She hoped that no one else would have to know that kind of hell. 

Despite it all, she was still proud of him. Even in the face of despair, Renji hung on. He didn’t give up. Just like Rukia knew he wouldn’t. 

Another thing that she would do when this was over; tell her how proud of him she was.

Before Rukia stood Masao. Quiet, sometimes spooky but never obtrusive Masao. In the Gotei, that was enough to go unnoticed, another uniform to fill out the military. Rukia barely even knew enough about him to know that his glasses were missing. There were scorch marks on the edges of his robes. There was cold fury in his eyes. 

“This is just how it’s going to be then, is it?”

Masao didn’t answer her. He hefted his javelin in his hands. Rukia honestly did regret having to fight a member of her own squad. Her second (at times first) family who she had sworn to protect.

Privately, of all division members to fight she was glad it was him. He was reclusive and unpleasant, so Rukia never got to know him well. 

She had a feeling that was likely for the best.

Without another word, Masao jumped and took the advantage of high ground. The javelin launched from his hands and soared down, curving unnaturally in it’s descent to guide itself towards Rukia. 

“ _ Dance! _ ” 

Sode no Shirayuki swung through the air, and from her blade came a massive, glittering wall of ice to block the projectile’s path. She sprinted out of the way as Masao’s zanpakuto punched through the frozen barrier, sending shards of ice raining to the ground.

Rukia raised her sword again, ready for another counter-attack, but instead the projectile turned around and flew away, presumably back to its wielder’s hand. Rukia juggled that observation in her head; the javelin was controlled by Masao, perhaps he couldn’t hit what he couldn’t see. 

Even with that advantage, it still wasn’t the best ideal situation. Rukia could finish this fight in seconds with her bankai and be back at Renji’s side, if only they were in a more isolated area! 

The spiritual presence of Rukia’s allies puslated on the edge of her thoughts, warm and alive but also so fragile. No, her bankai was far too dangerous. 

Fine, then. Rukia would do this with shikai alone. She gripped her blade and went on the offensive. Sode no Shirayuki’s bell sang a death song.

* * *

  
  


When Rangiku arrived, the Shiba house was already a pile of rubble. The masked shinigami were searching the ruins, their black uniforms standing out like ants crawling over bones and picking them clean of gristle. 

She should have felt bad. Rangiku should have felt guilty for attacking her fellow officers, some of whom might have been her own subordinates. Who might have been her own friends. 

She should have felt something,  _ anything _ , as Haineko rolled in, gray and loose as fog blowing in off of the ocean. As the millions of tiny flecks of ash fluttered on the breeze and ripped through flesh, leaving the ground behind red and wet with blood. 

Really, though, as Rangiku twisted the handle of her zanpakuto in her hand, she didn’t feel bad. Not at all.

Did that make her like Gin? Some remorseless monster who didn’t care if people died? Well, maybe. 

But Gin had been selfish. Wasn’t revenge, she thought, always an inherently selfish thing? At least Rangiku was doing this to protect. To prevent further harm. 

Perhaps Rangiku was a little selfish, though. It was freeing, in a way, to hurt those that wanted to hurt her. To release this pent up rage at the Gotei, that had taken everything from her, every piece of her life, and given her nothing but painful memories in return. 

A large man wearing the 10th division insignia on his robe aimed his sword at Rangiku’s neck, right before his chest burst open with a storm of ash that swarmed through his torso like flies. She owed Renji a ‘thank you’ later. Thank you for this catharsis. 

She could sense Ikkaku and Yumichika not far away, taking care of the rabble like she was. Rangiku could imagine Ikkaku complaining about all these cult members being small fry, and Yumichika simply enjoying his own beautiful strength while cutting down the weaklings. Incredibly typical. 

For a moment, Rangiku did envy them for being together like this. United in battle, and in their lack of remorse. 

She wished that Momo was here. Even if the dark-haired woman’s job was perhaps even more important than Rangiku’s, she had a feeling that Momo was the most worried of them all. About Renji especially, but worried about all of them. 

Rangiku would make sure they all made it back to her. 

  
  


* * *

The First Division had acquired a new window punched into its wall. A pink sunrise streamed through the fresh gap. Momo felt its warmth on her skin, spreading like fire.

She watched Shinji’s shoulders tight and tensed with concentration. She watched Kyoraku’s breathing grow heavier with effort. Still, the two of them had barely landed any blows against the other, and Momo was beginning to realize this was frustrating to them.

What had started almost as a light-hearted game was becoming tiresome. Like children, they had become bored with the same patterns, unable to make any substantial progress against each other.

“I’m tired.” Kyoraku admitted flatly. 

“Same here.” Shinji replied. Sakanade was starting to look heavy in his grasp, even as he stubbornly held it aloft. “We could call it a draw right now and forget the whole thing. All you have to do is call off the hunt on Abarai.” 

The smirk briefly returned to Kyoraku’s exhausted face, he gave a slight shrug with each of his swords in his hands. “Severely tempting offer. But you know that’s not my decision, Shinji. If you don’t like it, take it up with Central 46.” 

“Is that gonna be your excuse every time? I thought you were the big man in charge now, why are you letting yourself get pushed around by the old money?”

Any illusion of amusement melted off of Kyoraku’s face. “Such venom! Why don’t you just admit this isn’t really about Abarai? You’ve had this vendetta against the Gotei for a long time.” 

“I wanted to give you a second chance.” Shinji’s voice toyed the line between light and easy, and cold and severe. Aloof, perhaps. Disdainful. “I really had high hopes for you, y’know? As my boss and junk. But you’ve bungled things up, and forced me to be the one who puts things back on track.”

“That’s very noble of you. And I suppose a capable man like you has already cut off any attempts to chase down Abarai made by the other squads.” 

“Not all attempts.” Shinji turned grave once again. “Narcissus is still out there. All we can do about that is try to catch up, since you basically paved the way for ‘em.” 

There was a beat of silence, the quiet seemed to pound over the whole room. A noise gurgled in Kyoraku’s throat, like it was crawling up the tunnel of his esophagus. And his verbal reply finally came in a voice so small and so angry it barely sounded like him at all.

_ “I’m doing my best!”  _

A flash of sympathy flickered over Shinji, like light bouncing off the surface of a mirror. “I know.” 

The visored captain heard Momo’s footsteps approach, and at last he turned around to look at his lieutenant. “You alright, Momo?” Kyoraku’s eye followed, and as it landed on Momo his face paled. 

“Nanao!” 

“She’s okay.” Momo tried to assure him gently. She knew how this looked, with Nanao’s unconscious body lying limp in her arms. 

She cradled Nanao’s shoulders, tucked her head against her chest carefully and felt soft hair tickle her chin. Momo had told the truth from the beginning. She really hadn’t wanted anyone to get hurt, so she was relieved that the other lieutenant’s injuries were minor. Momo had already healed the worst of it, a residual glow of kidou radiating off of Nanao’s body. 

The other woman’s breathing was slow and even, air sliding over pink and parted lips while Nanao’s glasses slipped down her nose. It was as if she was just deep in a dream, perhaps imagining peaceful and pleasant things.

“She fought very well. Now, she just needs some rest.” 

That was a half-lie. Nanao fought as well as she could, especially against a friend and ally who knew her well. But Momo knew that deep down, Nanao was never one for battle. She wasn’t a warrior. 

(What, then, Momo wondered, did that say about herself?)

Kyoraku knew this also. He had been hoping from the beginning that Nanao would escape and reach reinforcements, but that had clearly fallen apart. 

There were two metal clangs of a dual zanpakuto falling to the floor in defeat. The battle was as good as over. 

Momo walked forwards, cautious of Nanao’s head and neck while the taller woman slept peacefully in her arms. She was older than Momo, but looked years younger in such a sound sleep. 

Momo let Kyoraku lift his niece out of Momo’s arms. “Thank you for being a good friend to her.” 

She wished that she had Rukia’s composure, or Rangiku’s effortless elegance to skate through this situation. As it was, Momo couldn’t stop her eyes getting blurry and wet. 

* * *

  
  


Rose was a man who was confident in his aesthetics. He enjoyed a good, dramatic flair and brought many posters of his rock star icons from the World of the Living back to Soul Society with him. But bold, punkish tattoos that commanded the eye were more of Kensei’s thing, and Rose didn’t like to copycat. 

(Well, that wasn’t to say Rose didn’t have some tattoos under there. But only the other visored knew about those.)

For that reason, he could only imagine the kind of dry commentary that his visored family would run if they could see him now. The black markings in the shape of butterfly wings were printed upon his cheek, X-ing the spot where Suzumebachi had stung him.

Another pair of wings were marked on the hollow of his throat, and he could feel one that had appeared on his hip. Anywhere that Soi Fon could land a blow on him. 

Every time she came close, Rose felt death radiate off of her. The woman may have been a captain, but she was first and foremost an assassin. It was written into her code.

Not that the battle had been one-sided, no. Even as fast as Soi Fon was, Rose’s lavender eyes never left his opponent. And he could see, plain as day, the red marks wrapping up her bare arms where Kinshara had gripped her and held her tight. 

Soi Fon’s face was pinched with fury. It looked as if she was actually _ annoyed _ that Rose wasn’t dead yet. What… spirit she had. What vitality!

“Well,” Rose announced. “I’m afraid you have me boxed into a corner.”

A flicker of sneering amusement nearly broke through her mask of professional hatred. “Considering your surrender, Otoribashi? You should know that when the Captain of the Second Division draws her weapon for an execution, she doesn’t intend on lifting the order.” 

“So I’ve heard. But no, I can’t afford to lose to you today.” Rose smiled. “Though it’s clear that I’m unlikely to defeat you in a fair fight.”

Rose felt something familiar and terrible rising inside of him. A feral, fluttering thing spread its wings inside his heart, and white particles of bone began to manifest in front of his face. He watched Soi Fon’s face twist from wrath, to disgust, to horror as the long shape of an avian beak made out of white bone appeared over his face. 

“ _ Kinshara Butōdan. _ ”

What a terrible display, that Rose should be forced to use a technique like this on one of his so-called allies. What a gruesome thing. And yet, the beast screaming inside of his soul felt such high elation. 

Rose felt inspiration pluck at his heart. An idea for a new composition on his guitar, a post-modern rock ballad inspired by Rimsky-Korsakov’s ‘Flight of the Bumblebee.’

* * *

Considering everything, it was looking quiet in Seireitei. The Sun climbed up in the sky as Kensei guarded the gate leading out to the Rukongai. After the first swarm that tried to pass him had been knocked out of the sky like flies, he wasn’t left with much to do. He was beginning to feel like an overqualified guard dog. 

That made sense, though. There had to be more of the Narcissus Order, but only the bravest of the brave (or the dumbest of the dumb) would dare risk being caught by the visored captain with the infamous bad temper. The others would try to sneak around him, wasting valuable time in their caution. 

It would not help. As quickly as Kensei knocked out the cult members he found, he almost pitied the ones who got past him only for Mashiro to catch their scent. And there was no outrunning her. 

Kensei rotated his neck and heard a stiff pop, stretching out his muscles. The ground in front of him was beginning to pile up with bodies. (Many broken limbs among them, but Kensei was almost sure that all of them were still breathing. He was a sentimental, foolish old man. He couldn’t bring himself to kill living people in cold blood. Don’t tell the others. They’d think he had gone soft.) 

He took a moment to look out towards the expanse of the Rukongai. He had seen the explosion at a distance, looking like a little poof ball of brown dust from so far away. A stubborn worry pulled at him. He searched for Shuuhei’s presence out there, and was relieved to find it sharp and thrumming with vivacious life. 

Stupid kid. Kensei knew he was too headstrong to die. 

Kensei wondered then if he should go to the Second Division and see if Rose needed help. Though with Kensei’s frank lack of agility, he would probably just get in the way of that fight. 

A more overt answer came to him in the form of a cold shiver that crawled up Kensei’s spine. He heard, in some ancient and secretive part of his mind, an avian screech. Something deep within him rumbled in instinctual response. A communion between packmates.

That ‘something’ edged around Kensei’s consciousness and circled his thoughts like a hunting creature, though he wouldn’t let it break through. 

It had been a long time since he heard Rose’s hollow call out like that. A frantic scream of excitement and joy.

Maybe he should go after all. Soi Fon was definitely still alive, but Kensei still might go make sure Rose didn’t do anything wild.

* * *

One thing that Renji’s bankai had never been was subtle. 

Truthfully, Izuru had not been up close to it often in the past. He certainly had no experience in a serious fight with it, even in the most intense sparring matches they ever had. Its destructive power was as much a disadvantage as it was a strength. 

Maybe that was why it felt so viceral now, to be fighting it. The creaking and grinding of bones seemed to roar in Izuru’s ear. Even the smell of it seemed overpowering, a mix of earth and rain and animal musk. 

Zabimaru’s cowl and gauntlet did not suit Gensei at all. Draped over his form, they looked like they had been torn out of Zabimaru itself and crudely stitched onto his body. His power flexed, coursing through the stolen bankai, and sent the massive shape of a skeletal hand crashing down towards Izuru. 

It was an easy attack to dodge, lacking Renji’s usual speed. Izuru rolled away, bracing his feet against the ground to stop himself from sliding, and raised Wabisule to land a counter-strike. But before he could get his hit in, the hand pulled away. 

Frustration boiled inside Izuru. Zabimaru was so big and clunky in this form, and Gensei clearly was inexperienced in how to best utilize it. If Izuru could just strike it enough and weigh Gensei down, this would be over. 

But one thing Gensei seemed to be genuinely good at was squirming away, even with Zabimaru’s unwieldy shape attached to him.

He hated him. Izuru hated this man, with so much revulsion and disgust that even looking at Gensei hurt with the force of how much Izuru loathed him. 

Involuntarily, his mind kept leaping back to that moment he saw Renji and was flooded with such a confusing mixture of joy and despair. Just seeing Renji’s face was almost enough to banish the nights of fear and anxiety. But the horror that lived in Renji’s eyes, on his shocked face and in his beautiful hair all chopped up. Izuru desperately wanted to scoop out all that unhappiness from inside Renji, and the fact that he couldn’t do so made him hot with a rare emotion. 

Izuru was not a violent person by nature. But he knew that rare emotion he carried inside him was a hunger to hurt. 

Kazeshini’s chains rattled, the links groaning and chattering against each other when Shuuhei sent one of his scythes flying towards Gensei. The twirling blade slashed into the skeletal arm, stripping it’s fur and leaving a scar embedded in the bone. Gensei pulled back the arm and swung wildly outwards with the snake-fanged gauntlet, a radiant blast of blistering red energy flying haphazardly over Shuuhei’s head. 

Izuru heard Renji muffle an reflexive sound of alarm behind him. No one knew how dangerous Zabimaru could be better than Renji himself, and Gensei was getting scared and reckless. 

He watched Shuuhei leap in, both scythes in his hand to try a risky close-quarters attack. His blades landed against the gauntlet and grinded into red sparks. Shuuhei’s gray eyes were narrowed, so bright with rage that they looked nearly white. His lips tore back over his bared teeth. 

Even as the battle raged on, Shuuhei had to be calculating the odds of victory. How quickly they could defeat Gensei, how likely it was that their allies needed help, how dangerous it was to have Renji out here in the open where any of the Narcissus could swoop in and snatch him up. Izuru had a sinking feeling it was only a matter of time before Shuuhei resorted to his own trump card; his bankai.

Which would be fine, if it weren’t just as likely to bring the battle to a grinding halt as it would be to get Shuuhei killed in the process. Kazeshini was an impulsive, unloyal brother-in-arm, and relying on his power was a gamble even in the best of situations. 

Izuru felt this heaviness in him, squeezing him. A tie between the agony of being helpless and the resentment of feeling like he  _ shouldn’t be _ helpless, like it was his fault. This needed to end before something happened that they couldn’t reverse. 

“Izuru!”

Even in the heat of battle, Renji’s voice called to him. It always would, no matter what Izuru was doing he couldn’t resist it. Never.

And as foolish as it was to take his eyes off of the enemy as Shuuhei grappled with him, Izuru turned to make sure Renji was alright.

The sight of him still made Izuru feel like his heart was being gripped and squeezed. He knew how much Renji hated feeling useless, it probably made him ache to see everyone else fighting for his sake. His short hair framed his jaw. He looked young and scared and in pain. 

But he was still Renji. He was that same man who looked down impossible odds without flinching, and who raged against anyone or anything in his way. And he never gave up. 

Izuru could see it in his eyes. Wide, the dark of his brown irises almost looking as black as his tattoos, but lit with that unquenchable fire. Renji’s face seemed to be as fierce as it was pleading. 

_ Let me help! _

Izuru wanted to say no. After all this, he and Shuuhei were finally here to the rescue. And for once, Renji should just let them take care of things. Stop trying to take all the burden onto himself and let them get their vengeance for him. 

He wanted Renji to let Izuru keep him safe. 

But Renji didn’t deserve that. He wouldn't be forced into the position of quiet observer, ignored until it was convenient to coddle him. He would not wait for anyone else’s timetable. 

And most of all, Izuru trusted him. 

So he nodded back, trying to swallow down the terror that threatened to crawl up onto his face.

_ Okay. _


	12. Firefly

Ichigo lifted Zangetsu to shield himself from Chiaki’s powerful kick, her foot landing against the flat side of the blade without a single shred of fear in her movements. It figured that being from Yoruichi’s former squad, she would be as comfortable fighting hand-to-hand as she was with weapons. Her blows would come rapidly one after the other, and Ichigo would be forced to dodge a punch followed by a stab with her dagger. 

She didn’t care if she got cut. She just wanted to make him hurt. 

His eyes followed as Chiaki jumped back to regain her footing. The second she was on the defense Ichigo rushed forwards to swing at her, but she danced out of the way and left him swinging at air. 

Ichigo’s attacks weren’t landing like they were supposed to. Air rattled in his chest. He was having a hard time concentrating. 

He suspected-- he  _ knew _ why that was. Ichigo knew he wasn’t slow; he and Chiaki were spending more time leaping around each other than they did actually landing attacks. 

But she had made one good hit. Her dagger had cut into his shoulder, slicing through his skin like paper. It wasn’t a deep cut at all, and Ichigo had shrugged off more serious injuries without breaking a sweat in the past. But it was… strange. 

Ichigo’s heart raced inside his ribcage, pounding so hard he could feel it vibrate throughout his body. His head felt warm and dizzy, and he couldn’t seem to stay focused. The lines of his vision began to gently blur, the bland colors of the ruined battlefield bleeding into each other like watercolor paint. 

He angled Zangetsu and aimed the tip of the blade towards Chaiki’s midsection, but his eyes were drawn to something way, way behind her. For a moment, he thought he saw a small figure and a pair of large, brown eyes looking at him. A familiar, round face stained with tears, looking lost and alone against the rocks and desecrated earth. 

It was Yuzu. 

_ “Nii-san, _ ” Her voice sounded distant and distorted, like he was hearing her speak underwater.  _   
_ _ “What’s happening? I’m scared…” _

Ichigo’s breath was trapped in his throat, a rush of raw adrenaline flooding his veins as he saw Yuzu’s face fade away and her body melt into smoke. Just in time for Chiaki to cut him across the ribs. 

He recoiled from the pain, instinctively backing up to be out of Chiaki’s range, but his feet felt unsteady underneath his own weight. Ichigo felt hot, and heavy, and slow, like when he was having a nightmare and woke up covered in cold sweat. 

There was no way that this was a dream, right? He was here, in the Rukongai. That was an undeniable fact, but the reality of the situation was trying to slip from his grasp. 

One moment, Ichigo was standing in his house, watching Yuzu and his dad make breakfast for him and Karin, the smell of fresh cooked rice like perfume in his nose. The next, he was in the lecture hall at university, Chad holding an open seat for him among the background noise of shuffling papers and the professor’s droning voice.

Then, he was in unbearable desert heat of Los Noches, staring at his own reflection in Grimmjow’s razor sharp teeth as he reached forwards to tear Ichigo’s face off with his long, needle-sharp claws. Grimmjow’s face morphed into Aizen, his eyes purple and drunk with power. He stank of cruelty and blood. 

Ichigo squeezed his eyes shut against the dizzying carousel of visions. He released one hand’s grip on Zangetsu to press a palm against his forehead, and he felt his own sweltering, sweat-stained skin.  _ Get out. Get  _ **_out_ ** _ of my head! _

“You look upset.” Chiaki’s voice cut through the visions. She was the only thing static in the world transforming all around him. A smear of black ink against the swirls of color and shifting reality. “Whatever could be the matter? Could it be--”

“Your zanpakuto’s ability, yeah.” Ichigo cut her off impatiently, forcing his breath to even out between his words. “You cut me, and now I’m having these hallucinations. It’s not that complicated.” 

He was gratified to see her look extremely bothered, brows pinched in annoyance. It was almost hypnotic, the way that the scenery shifted and evolved around her, but she stayed the same. 

Chiaki was definitely keeping him disoriented, but she was also his only anchor. 

“That’s fine. It’s not the first time I’ve had someone messing with my head. There’s nothing you could do that hasn’t already been done.” Ichigo gripped Zangetsu again, both hands tight on the swords’ hilts. “It just means I need to keep concentrating on you.”

Ichigo rushed her, and the images in front of his eyes swirled like paint being washed away by the rain. He could see the cherry blossom petals that fell from the Karakura high school courtyards, carried on a fresh spring wind. They danced between grains of bone-white sand blowing off the Hueco Mundo dessert, before the particles of earth tore the soft petals to shreds. 

Above him, the Sun glared down at Ichigo. It blinked, darkening into the lines of Ywach’s face staring through him. The air reeked with iron and death, Ichigo could smell the odor dripping down his stomach from the gaping hole yawning out of his chest.

_ Concentrate. It isn’t real. Block out all the distractions _ . Ichigo grit his teeth. It was challenging, especially with Chiaki still avoiding his attacks so quickly. The memories forming a tunnel around Ichigo made him want to scream and scream until his lungs hurt.

At last, Zangetsu’s blade hit resistance. He saw a spray of crimson leap into the air, they landed in hot flecks against Ichigo’s face. The metallic odor and heat of it sent a shock through his body.

It was strange to think back on all the times Ichigo had cut another person. He had spent the last year or so hunting only hollows, and now the sight of raw, bloody flesh filled him with fresh revulsion. He realized that he always loathed this part. 

He watched Chiaki stumble, eyed absolutely livid with pain, surprise, and white-hot outrage. Her zanpakuto fell from her hand and clattered to the ground, dropped so that she could grip her injured shoulder. Chiaki’s palm pressed over the wound as blood welled up and oozed between her fingers. 

“You idiot!” Despite her pain, Chiaki’s voice came in powerful, hateful huffs, like every word was carved out of a barbaric animal grunting. “You’re ruining everything! Why can’t you just--” 

Ichigo’s breath caught in his throat as Chiaki’s legs gave out underneath her, and her body fell like dead weight. He lowered Zangetsu’s blades. The dizzying visions flickering all around him began to gray, colors fading back to that early morning pale of the real world as Chiaki slumped over and breathed harder into her chest.

Despite everything, Ichigo didn’t want to kill someone. He never had.

Fortunately Ichigo could tell that Chiaki was way too stubborn to just die. And knowing the hand she played in Renji’s situation, it was hard for him to feel bad for her. 

Still, he hated just standing over her like this. Ichigo remembered how much he actually detested coming to Soul Society. 

Chikai’s voice cracked. “Why can’t you just leave us alone?”

* * *

  
  


Rukia ducked in time to feel Masao’s javelin fly over her head, cutting the air into ribbons. There was a new, almost mind-numbing kind of panic that kicked in when being targeted by a flying missile trying to rip through one’s skull. She thought it might be akin to the fear that animals have when a large bird of prey is swooping down from the sky, talons outstretched. 

Its flight was too close for comfort. Rukia could feel the ripples of wind blowing through her hair before the javelin glided past and landed violently behind her in an ear-splitting cracking of earth. But no matter how many times she dodged or outran it, she only had a few seconds before the weapon would fly back to Masao’s hand and he would prepare to fling it again, just as silent, just as single-minded in his determination to exterminate his own lieutenant. 

A few seconds. That was all she had.

That was all she needed.

There were only a few seconds after Masao’s zanpakuto impeded itself into the ground, then it would fly back and return to his grasp. Rukia tightened her grip on Sode no Shirayuki and rushed to attack Masao directly, white blade poised to pierce his chest. 

But even as Rukia came near him, she saw nothing on his face. No fear of pain or death, Rukia just saw her own grim expression reflected in his eyes. 

He wasn’t scared, because he was anticipating this. 

Rukia heard the whistling sound of the javelin fast-approaching behind her. Her heart jackhammered in her throat, and Rukia rolled out of the way before the projectile could stab through the back of her spine. A twist in mid-air saved her life, though the impact from landing on the ground sent rough vibrations up her knees. 

She couldn’t understand it. How could Masao attack her so coldly? How could there be absolutely no emotion or passion in this fight? 

Rukia thought that maybe she could understand him if Masao was resentful towards her. If perhaps he was bitter about her leadership or about her values, or even if he simply hated her. Rukia could try to empathize, and would know that they were two warriors pitting their full strength against each other. She could understand anything, as long as there was a purpose behind it. 

Instead, there was nothing. All Rukia could sense was the twitch of Masao’s eyes narrowing, the way a reptile’s dilates when hunting prey. He was a cold-blooded, unfeeling creature. Rukia had the skin-crawling sense that he didn’t even register her as a person. Perhaps he never had.

It bothered her, and it bothered her that it bothered her. You would think after everything Rukia had been through, there would be nobody more frigid than her. But it turned out she was still soft inside. 

_ Say something. Anything. _ Rukia grit her teeth.  _ You took one of the people most precious to me. You stole him from me, then showed your face to me like it was nothing. You don’t even care! _

She couldn’t understand it. She refused to understand it. 

Renji’s face flashed in Rukia’s mind again, and her heart twisted inside her chest. She wanted to see that empty expression on Masao’s face shatter like glass. 

Again, the javelin came down on her, and this time Rukia only had enough time to block with her blade. The pointed head collided with the flat side of Sode no Shirayuki with such incredible force, Rukia felt her feet lift off the ground. The next instant, she heard an awful ‘crack’ as her head smacked against stone, and her vision went white with stars. 

A groan squeezed out of Rukia’s throat, but she forced her arms to push up her body. Her shoulders were heavy, and she felt something warm trickle down the back of her neck.

Some acting captain she was, letting her own subordinate get the better of her like this.

Some friend she was, letting one of Renji’s captors see her struggling like this. 

Rukia forced herself to her feet, the ground feeling wobbly and uncertain underneath her. And when she looked up, she was met with the unfortunate sight of Masao. Still standing, still looking lifeless. As if he were a corpse moved with puppet strings. 

Rukia set her jaw. Sode no Shirayuki’s bell rang loudly as her ribbon flapped in the wind. She had already decided she wasn’t going to lose this fight. 

She watched her opponent set his broad shoulders, hefting the long shape of his javelin next to his head. The tip of it was level with his eyes as he stared Rukia down and prepared his next attack. 

Rukia knew by now that he wouldn’t hesitate, and once again he launched his weapon at her with intent to kill. 

Her prediction was right on the money. There was a brief window where she had her perfect chance, she had just been wrong about when that window was. 

It wasn’t when the javelin landed. It was when it was still in the air. 

_ Now. _

Rukia twisted her wrist, the snow-colored blade swinging down parallel to her feet while the ribbon on the hilt curved and completed the circle. She had done this move hundreds of times. Without even thinking about it, she knew exactly the way to turn her sword so that it turned in the shape of a perfect full moon. 

It was, after all, Sode no Shirayuki’s first and oldest dance.

_ “Some no mai, Tsukishiro. _ ”

A ripple of energy so cold that it burned pulsated inside her, at the same time Rukia watched a pulse of white light burst out of the ground and into the sky. 

The pillar of ice reflected the dawn, the uneven surface glowing in brillant shapes of blues and pinks. Within those vibrant sky colors, there was one slash of heavy gold. The shape of Masao’s javelin suspended in the middle of the frozen pillar. 

Rukia looked back to Masao now. She dared him to meet her gaze. And this time, without a weapon and stripped of any kind of power the Narcissus Order lended him, he was a different man. Weak, and vulnerable, and frightened. This time, she saw him flinch from her gaze. 

Rukia raised her zanpakuto again. Now, the two of them finally understood each other. 

* * *

  
  


Shuuhei had a lot of time to think about Tousen over in past years. About who he was, and about the most important lesson that he left behind.

‘ _ He who does not fear the blade he wields has no right to hold it. _ ’

Shuuhei told people about this, and they always gave him a very weird look. There was something lost in communication, this misunderstanding that Shuuhei must have some antagonistic relationship with himself. (Don’t we all?)

They missed the point. In many ways Tousen had been a very unwell man, and some things Shuuhei would never be a kind enough person to forgive. But he knew what he had been talking about.

It was about consequences. 

When you kill someone, that action doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It’s a ripple effect, reaching out and affecting other people. You’re extinguishing all of that person’s future actions, both good and bad. 

And killing, no matter the circumstances, changed you. It made you more callous to death and suffering. Because whether you are conscious of that decision or not, going into battle requires that you break a living, breathing person down into a series of cold, inhuman calculations. What are the pros and cons of ending this person’s life? How easy would it be? Is it personally convenient for me if they disappear from this world forever? 

That was how Shuuhei usually approached battle. He didn’t want to step into a fight unless he was confident in his answer to all those questions, and would leave combat with absolutely no regrets about what he had done. He had to be absolutely sure that the good outweighed the evil.

But maybe Shuuhei was the one who misunderstood. Maybe he should have doubted himself more, because at times being sure of himself only made him more cruel. 

He was absolutely sure right now that he wanted to kill Gensei. And it wasn’t because it would be better for the world if all traces of him vanished. Shuuhei wanted to destroy him because an irrational, instinctual, primal urge beating inside him said so. He could hear Kazeshini’s forked tongue licking the air that swirled around him, but even that was a distant echo carried away on the wind. 

Gensei was not looking as confident as he had been, boxed into a corner and fighting two lieutenants. His face was red with effort of controlling Renji’s unwieldy bankai, and sweat dripped down his face. 

That only made Shuuhei more angry. He hated the way that Gensei stubbornly hung on, as if he had anything of substance worth fighting for. Shuuhei’s blood boiled inside his skin.  _ Just die already! _

But as much as Shuuhei wanted to kill him, Gensei was just as filled with the desire to crush Shuuhei in return. Teeth flashed between Gensei’s lips as Kazeshini’s scythes sliced through the air towards him, and were knocked away by Zabimaru’s massive arm. Renji’s bankai was like a fortress, all that solid bone slowing the wielder down but also sealing them inside like a cocoon. 

“ _ Orochio! _ ”

The air was filled with the clack-clacking noise of bones tapping against each other. Zabimaru’s skeletal tail unfurled itself from around Gensei’s waist and lashed wildly, the very end of it bearing a serrated, sharpened tip like a scorpion’s stinger. 

Now. It had to be  _ now!  _ Shuuhei felt Kazeshini’s metal grow hot where he held it, prepared himself to throw the scythe once again to wrap his chains around Gensei’s throat and crush the life out of him. 

In the end, though, he wasn’t quick enough. Wasn’t smart enough. All that focus on killing the enemy blocked out the rational course of action, which was for Shuuhei to defend himself from a direct attack. 

Zabimaru’s tail made a wet, surprisingly soft sound as it pierced Shuuhei’s flesh. For a moment, he really did expect venom to pour out of the tip like a scorpion and burn his blood from the inside-out, but Renji’s powers had never been that subtle. 

Instead, the sharp edge pushed deeper inside of him. The pain centralized in his stomach and radiated outwards through Shuuhei’s entire body. Like a broken glass, cracks spreading outwards from the point of impact.

_ Move _ . Shuuhei commanded his arms and legs to work, but with horror he instead felt himself go slack. It felt like he was on fire. 

“That’s too bad.” 

Gensei’s voice sounded like it was coming from miles away. It almost reinvigorated Shuuhei’s fury, chasing away some of the fear and pain with a new flood of rage. 

“You know, Hisagi-san, many of my people thought you should have taken Renji-kun’s place. After we were sure the Gotei gave up on him, you were going to be next. Now your death won’t be useful to anybody.” 

Kazeshini slid from Shuuhei’s grasp, and the chains groaned with disappointment as they hit the ground. Shuuhei wanted to lift his arms, put his hands on the tail impaling him and pull it out. As it was, though, his body wouldn’t follow his demands. 

A quick motion ricocheted up the length of the tail, Shuuhei saw the sky spin over him as he was flicked off of Zabimaru’s tail like a flea, and landed against the dirt in a heap of useless limbs. 

Shuuhei’s chest heaved, trying futilely to get air into his lungs. This wasn’t over. If he could just crawl over to where Kazeshini had fallen. If he could just force himself to call on his bankai and turn the tables, he could take Gensei down. 

( _ You would die if you did that _ . A voice that sounded a little too much like a combination between Izuru’s pressed terseness and Renji’s rasping growl spoke in his head.  _ Then what are we supposed to do? You won’t accomplish anything by running towards your death.) _

If that’s what it took, Shuuhei decided. If he could use it to keep Gensei from ever getting close to Renji again, then wasn’t it worth the risk? 

Rolling onto his side took so much effort, Shuuhei’s vision distorted with pain. He felt the need to vomit, but when his throat spasmed all that came up was handfuls of blood. 

He couldn’t die. Not until he had saved Renji. 

Gensei’s shadow appeared to loom 100 feet tall over him. 

“Now what is this?” 

Shuuhei was amazed that with all the pain and blood swirling around inside his body right now, there was still room for loathing. Didn’t it seem like Gensei was exactly the kind of person to toy with his enemies right before finishing them? 

Gensei’s voice dripped with surprised delight. “And what do you suppose you’re doing, Renji-kun?”

“What the fuck does it look like?” 

Shuuhei’s body tensed, a noise of protest and fear tried to crawl out of his mouth but all he could spit up was blood. He should have known-- Renji would never stay out of a fight like this. He would butt his way in to the very end. 

Thus why Renji now stood in front of Shuuhei protectively, blocking him from Gensei. Worse still, Shuuhei saw a glint of steel clutched in Renji’s hand. 

Shuuhei tried to put his hand to his hip. Throughout the entire fight, he hadn’t even realized Zabimaru had gone missing from his sash. 

At the sight of Renji, Gensei’s face lit up like the Sun. All that anger, that single-minded desire to crush Shuuhei, was replaced with the sick elation at seeing his favorite prey. “You act like you don’t even understand the situation, Renji-kun. Don’t you understand how serious this is? I could ruin you, boy.” 

Shuuhei couldn’t see Renji’s face. He could only watch the stiff line of Renji’s shoulders. Hear the heavy, iron tone in his voice. “You won’t kill me.”

“No, there are so many better things I could do. I could break your arms and legs so badly that they’ll never heal properly. I could cut out your tongue and stab out your eyes so you’ll spend the rest of your life unable to see or call for help.” 

Shuuhei’s throat felt like it was constructing itself, a snake wrapping around his neck. Where was Izuru? He was supposed to be protecting Renji. 

A flash of flaxen blond caught Shuuhei’s eye. In the corner of his eye, he could see Izuru lurking; perched on a high cliff of rubble, the angular blade of Wabisuke poised like the hooked beak of a hawk. He was allowing Renji to distract Gensei. Shuuhei’s body and mind reeled with dizziness.

Shuuhei cursed himself and his stupid emotions. He hadn’t been able to control himself, and now everything was falling apart. 

He should have been more careful. He should have been more afraid.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Renji knew why people were ashamed of showing fear. It was all too simple, really; admitting fear was admitting weakness. And admitting weakness got you killed. 

That was why he never told anyone about his fears. He never told Rukia or anyone else about the well in the Rukongai. He never told them that he still got anxious in small spaces, haunted by this irrational sense that the walls were going to close in on him and that he wouldn’t be able to breathe. 

He was afraid of failure, too. He hated when people talked down to him, treated him like he was a disappointment. Renji did everything to make sure people were too impressed or too intimidated to say such things to his face, though he was sure that behind his back it was another story. 

If he only admitted that fear to himself when he was alone, then that was enough for him to pretend it didn’t exist to the rest of the world. Renji could be whole. 

Renji was terrified now, and there was no point in trying to hide it. No private corner or jail cell where he could quietly drown himself in the privacy of his terror and then come back up for air when he was ready to face the world. 

Gensei wasn’t content with what he had already taken from Renji. He had to have everything, even Zabimaru’s bankai. 

Renji had never appreciated how unsettling his bankai looked to the outside observer. The bleached bones and fur were stained with blood-- Shuuhei’s blood. Zabimaru didn’t seem to fit Gensei, properly. Gensei looked like a zombie stitched together with different creature’s body parts. A chimera. 

Gensei stood above Shuuhei’s broken body, and Renji’s heart squeezed with so much pain he thought he would black out from it. Everything Renji had done had been to  _ prevent _ his loved ones from getting hurt, so how could he be standing here and watching Shuuhei’s chest heave with the effort of breathing, fluttering like a bird’s broken wing? His feet itched to run over, his hands ached with the desire to pull Shuuhei to his chest and shield him from any more harm. At the same time, guilt prickled Renji’s skin.  _ This is all your fault. You couldn’t do anything for him. _

Renji was afraid of Gensei. He was afraid of him killing Shuuhei and Izuru and everyone Renji had ever cared about. He was afraid of the desolate future Gensei described, where he reduced Renji to nothing but a doll that existed only to be tormented. And Renji was sure that the fear was plain on his face. It coursed through his body, all the blood inside of him replaced with liquid terror.

That was what made the plan so perfect. Renji’s horror, painted in his eyes and reeking from his soul. What could be more intoxicating to a person who fed on that fear? Gensei could never resist such a tempting meal. 

Gensei reached out with Zabimaru’s giant, skeletal hand, grinning that awful grin as Renji recoiled from it. “And yet you still intend to fight me… I knew that I was right to choose you, firefly.”

“I guess you were.” 

Renji held Zabimaru up with both hands, taking the basic kendo stance that was coded into his muscle memory. Despite how miserably this situation was laid out before him was, it at least felt good to wield her again. The weight of her, the familiar grooves of her hilt fit perfectly into his hand as if she were made especially for him and him alone.

_ Are you awake? _ Renji tightened his hold. He wanted so badly to hear her voice, even if it was just to scold him like usual or complain about how weak he had become.  _ Are you with me? _

It was faint, and too unclear to make out words. But Renji could still hear the throaty noise of a large animal, followed by the clicking of her chattering her jaw. A breeze carded through the air, cutting through the reek of blood with a fresh scent of rain. A touch of hope blossomed inside Renji’s chest. 

The finger bones creaked loudly as that huge, skeletal hand began to close around him. Renji closed his own fist tightly. In one hand, he clung only to Zabimaru. In the other, the smoke bomb that Kuukaku gave him shattered in his fist and instantly burst into a mushroom cloud of pitch-black smoke. 

Immediately, both men were swallowed in an unnatural blanket of darkness. The harsh morning light was smothered, and Renji heard Gensei choke on that raw, pungent black smoke flooding into his lungs.

Not that Renji was in a much better situation. The smoke stung his eyes and his nose, it crawled into his mouth and down into his chest. Renji covered his face with his hand and tried not to cough, he had to stay as quiet as possible to avoid giving away his position. 

But it was no use. Renji’s chest screamed for air, finally his breath came back up in a dry, hacking cough. 

He ducked as a blade shot past his head, the snake-head gauntlet missing Renji by mere inches. He stumbled backwards from his own weapon and fell ass-first onto the ground. 

Gensei’s voice dripped through the smoke. “Clever tricks do not suit you, Firefly. I know the kind of man you are.” 

A strong gust of wind pulled at Renji’s hair and clothes, he watched the skeletal hand wave through the air and cast away the black smoke. As simple as that Gensei found him again, just like he always did. 

It was enough, though. When Renji looked up again he wasn’t looking at Gensei. 

He was looking at Izuru standing behind him, Wabisuke raised above his head into the sky, holding the Sun in it’s rectangular blade. 

Izuru’s eyes were lit with cold fire, his expression was as sharp and severe as razorwire. The light hit the back of his head like a radiant, gold halo and Izuru brought his zanpakuto down on Gensei. 

A twisted scream of agony ripped out of Gensei’s throat as Izuru dragged his blade down the larger man’s back. Renji watched blood splatter against the dirt, Gensei’s face contorted in pain and frustration. 

Gensei’s knees buckled, Renji knew he must have been instantly hit with his own body weight suddenly being doubled and was forced to support himself. Still, he turned and stumbled on his feet, swinging his arm wildly. The skeletal arm smashed into Izuru’s side and knocked him to the ground. 

A yelp of pain was squeezed out of Izuru’s as he hit the dirt, but the lieutenant had curled his arms and legs in to protect his head and body. The counter-attack had been anticipated long in advance.

“Should’ve kept your eyes on me.” Renji said. He lifted Zabimaru, though she felt heavy in his hands. He thrust his blade upwards, and watched it disappear into the small of Gensei’s back.

Zabimaru sank into flesh. Renji heard the wet, sloshing sounds of a sharp blade sliding through raw meat in his ears. He felt his sword push deeper and deeper, inch-by-inch, as if it were happening in slow-motion. Until Zabimaru’s blade finally broke through the other side, and emerged out of Gensei’s chest. 

Renji could imagine perfectly the kind of pain that must have run through Gensei’s body and mind. The unbelievable shock and anguish lighting up his body, the feeling that his heart couldn’t beat fast enough, his lungs couldn’t breathe deeply enough, his brain was on fire as he tried to comprehend his own fear and suffering. 

Renji inhaled deeply. His knuckles were bone-white where they held Zabimaru.  _ C’mon. Give me one good one. Do it for me. _

“ _ Howl, Zabimaru. _ ”

The sword glowed a heavenly, sunset-red. Gensei’s wound grew from a tiny slit where he had been pierced into a long gash running from sternum to stomach as Zabimaru changed into its shikai state inside him. It’s metal teeth grew and shredded his windpipe, his stomach, all the soft meat in between. 

Renji pushed Zabimaru deeper into him, widening the hole inside his torso before pulling it out entirely. A wave of blood burst out of the wound like a broken dam, soaking the ground in dark red. 

There were no final words. No taunts to follow Renji to his dying days, or pleading for his own life. 

Gensei was simply dead before he even hit the ground. 

Renji almost couldn’t convince himself it was real. The sound of his own breathing roared in his ears, he stared at the body lying before him and watched the skeletal attachments of his own bankai dissolve off of Gensei’s corpse. 

Part of Renji was absolutely convinced that this was just more false hope. He waited for Gensei to climb back to his feet and the nightmare would start all over again, an anchor to keep dragging Renji back into hell. 

But seconds passed, then turned into minutes, and still there was nothing. As if to prove that, Izuru’s voice reached Renji’s ears and pulled him back up to this new reality. 

“Renji,” Izuru appeared in a rush to bury his face in Renji’s chest, arms wrapping around Renji’s waist tightly in a desperate hug. An ‘I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you’-style hug, which was very Izuru. A tidal wave of affection hit Renji so fast he felt dizzy. “You’re not hurt?”

Renji’s fingers carded through Izuru’s hair, and when the blond looked up Renji could see a dark bruise blooming across Izuru’s face where he had been knocked off of his feet. He put his hand out to tenderly stroke the mark, and Izuru grabbed his hand and kiss it. 

They couldn’t relax yet, though. Renji’s pulse raced yet again. “Go heal Shuuhei!” 

Izuru’s eyes, which just a few minutes ago were narrowed into frozen daggers of hatred and despair, were now wide and warm. He looked young and boyish, with such innocent worry on his face. Izuru nodded and stood up to run to Shuuhei’s side. 

Renji saw the orange, luminous glow of healing kido appear over Shuuhei, Izuru kneeling over him and immediately going right to work on mending his injury. 

He looked down at Zabimaru, her perfect steel now stained with blood streaming down the blade and congealing between the separated segments. Her vicious joy for battle quieted down to a sleepy growl, and Renji watched his zanpakuto return to its sealed form. As soon as it did, a wave of exhaustion hit Renji all at once, and his vision became tilted. 

He did it. He finally killed that man. It already felt like a dream, or a distant memory. 

“Renji?” 

Izuru’s voice sounded watery in Renji’s ears. He was looking over at Renji from where he was still healing Shuuhei’s chest, eyes flickering with concern. “You don’t look well. Just wait a minute, and I’ll be right there.”

“No, I’m okay. Just… hold on.” Renji jabbed the edge of Zabimaru’s blade into the ground, leaning his weight on her to pull himself up to stand. Shuuhei needed to be tended to right now. That was all he needed to focus on.

When he got over to Izuru, Renji let his legs collapse underneath him so he could sit next to where Izuru was kneeling. Violet bruises bloomed like plum blossoms over Izuru’s concentrated expression, the battle was over but Izuru’s work wasn’t done until everyone was healed and safe. He would take everyone else’s emotions onto his own shoulders if he had to.

Under his hands, the gaping and raw wound in Shuuhei’s chest began to gradually shrink. The breath that passed in and out of his lips became less ragged and uneven, and color blossomed back to Shuuhei’s cheeks. 

“Jeeze,” Renji exhaled. His eyes flicked from Shuuhei’s face to Izuru’s. “Lookit this mess. You two are so hot-headed.”

He saw a thin, exhausted smile crack Izuru’s lips. 

“You should rest now.” Izuru still didn’t take his eyes off Shuuhei, but his voice was aimed entirely at Renji. His tone was gentle, but firm. “This will take a while, and you’ve been through a lot. I’ll watch over you both.” 

“No, Rukia and the others might need help.” 

“You’re tired.”

There was no arguing that. Renji had a feeling that even if he tried to stand up, he’d just go back down twice as fast. And he didn’t want Izuru to stop working on Shuuhei’s wound just to scrape Renji off the ground again.

“Then,” Renji’s eyes went back to Shuuhei. The orange lantern-like glow of the healing kidou made his skin appear gold. Eyes closed serenely, his black eyelashes brushed the apple of his cheeks. “I should stay with him.”

“And you will.” Izuru said with absolute certainty. “As you both get some rest.”

Renji kept looking into that blanket of kidou; the light dried out his eyes and he rubbed them with his wrist. His hands felt like lead.

It would be nice, wouldn’t it? Renji hadn’t had a decent sleep in what felt like ages. It couldn’t hurt if he just laid his head on Izuru’s knee and closed his eyes for a few minutes. 

No one was going to hunt him down. No one was going to take him away. Renji wouldn’t let them, not ever again. Knowing that, he could finally relax.

Not even an hour later, when Rukia, Ichigo, Rangiku, Ikkaku, Yumichika and the Shiba siblings were all recovered, Renji would still be there. Victorious, safe, and asleep.


	13. Dawn

For once, Renji enjoyed the quiet. 

Traditionally, silence was Renji’s bitter enemy. His brain was wired to fight and defend himself, always scanning his environment for the next danger. During his run in the Academy, it was obvious that Renji wasn’t suited for sitting still and focusing quietly. He needed the noise. 

But he had changed. Renji had forced himself to be that creature that lurked, he had pressed his ear to the ceiling and listened for the softest footsteps. He looked over his shoulder every time a branch snapped. And he would gladly take the blanket of silence over those spikes of paranoia. 

So, he let his mind sink into the quiet. 

Renji’s body felt weightless, floating in a pool of cool water while gentle currents brushed against his back. This place was a quiet cave, undisturbed by human interference. A breath of fresh air drifted in from some unseen entrance, carrying in green leaves that floated around Renji on the surface of the water like tiny boats. Completely serene. 

Except that it wasn’t real, was it? Nothing in Renji’s life had ever been so simple, so peaceful. 

In an instant, the air turned sour and stale with mold. The temperature of the water plunged from pleasant to freezing. And Renji knew the moment he reached out his hands, his palms would brush against the rough, wet edge of bricks. The tight, suffocating walls of the well. 

  
  


Renji’s eyes opened groggily, his brain lurching into consciousness but tripping over that blurry state of half-sleep on the way.

He rolled over onto his side, finding soft bedding underneath him. Renji half-expected to feel the sharp edges of the woven mattress from the basement. Instead, he only touched soft, downy cotton, and the fluffy blanket that had been draped over him. 

That was right. Renji wasn’t in the basement anymore, and he wasn’t in the Nest of Maggots either. The memories from the battle at the Shiba Estate came forth. The fight, being rescued, killing Gensei.

Renji waited for relief to fill him. He should be absolutely elated to be free. He should be throwing open the windows with a big, stupid grin on his face, greeting the rising sun and singing to the birds, delirious with joy. 

Instead, he felt sour and faintly nauseous. Renji folded his arms over his stomach to try and quell the uneasy feeling in his gut. He wasn’t a prisoner anymore, but to the Gotei he was still a criminal and an exile. There was no way to slap a bandage on that. 

This room made Renji nervous. It was a lonely room, Renji only seeing a low table and a few disorganized boxes in it, aside from the futon he had been sleeping on. It resembled a hospital room, though Renji wasn’t  _ technically _ injured or sick. 

Renji jumped when he heard a door click, though he commanded his heart to stop pounding when he realized it was only Shuuhei. 

“Hey, you’re finally up.” 

Shuuhei’s smile was earnest, but definitely drained. He was wearing a simple, tea-green yukata, which was absolutely jarring to see him in instead of his usual customized shihakusho. His hair was messy, flattened on one side and in dire need of a comb, and his black choker was absent. 

Renji couldn’t help but stare-- even when Shuuhei was pushing through all-nighters on two-day-old coffee at the office, he always took care to present himself as just the right level of ‘looking effortless but actually quite effortful’ respectable punk that he preferred. It was as if Renji was looking at an entirely different person. 

(Not to mention, of course, the small detail of white bandages just barely slipping out of Shuuhei’s collar. Underneath that robe, Shuuhei’s chest had been tightly bound as his injuries still healed. Sometimes air stille rattled in his chest while his lungs still healed.)

It didn’t take long for Shuuhei to notice Renji’s vacant expression. His nose scrunched up like a bunny, brows knit in concern. “What is it?” 

Renji shook himself out of his own thoughts. He wasn’t the only one who had lost his old life. “Nothing.”

Shuuhei stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. His voice became more delicate now, as if he was afraid that Renji would be hurt if he was too brusque. “Something is wrong. You look pale.” 

_ Thank you, my darling Shuuhei. What a lovely way with comforting words you have, _ Renji bit back his moodiness. Shuuhei was only concerned

“I just-- I didn’t sleep well.” Renji lied, and tried to run his fingers through his hair. He kept forgetting he had lopped about 80% of his glorious mane right off. God, that sucked. “Seriously, I’m fine.”

Shuuhei looked unconvinced. He walked towards the darkened window and opened up the shutters, letting fresh sunlight wash over the panelled flooring. The Sun was already high in the sky and Renji recoiled from it’s gleam; had he really slept in until noon? That wasn’t like him at all.

“You need fresh air in here.” Shuuhei said matter-of-factly. “Hinamori’s kidou alarms are set, so there’s no reason to keep this closed.” 

Renji appreciated the bitter irony. Shuuhei was insufferably blunt, but even he didn’t want to directly mention the Narcissus Order again. They were all quietly sitting on the issue, like that would make it go away. 

Despite what Renji’s dreams and anxiety would have him believe, it had been over a week since that battle. Everyone already wanted to put it behind them, especially Rukia. She was a problem-solver, and it seemed like Renji’s rescue had only sparked a deeper resolution to ‘fix’ all his new problems. 

This house had been one of those solutions. A small cabin in some remote slice of the Rukongai. District 12, Renji believed? He couldn’t really recall. Rukia had bought the deed with a sizable cash payment and her family name, which meant technically Renji was living on Kuchiki property, and he wasn’t totally sure how to feel about that either. 

There were a mere handful of rooms, including the master bedroom where Renji had woken up. It was such a Rukia decision-- logical, but also considerate and thoughtful. But it made Renji ache for his old bedroom. For his old things that were presumably either destroyed in the fire or claimed as evidence. 

Renji watched Shuuhei stand at the window, framed by a blue sky. It was a hot, dry, yellow kind of summer day. He wondered if Shuuhei already missed the Seireitei, or was too busy thinking of their enemies to be melancholic. 

“The healer girl arrived this morning.” Shuuhei said, voice void of emotion. 

“Inoue?” Renji sat up, instantly threw the covers off of his legs and rolled onto his feet. “Why didn’t you say so before? You should’ve woken me up!” 

“She said that she didn’t mind waiting until you were ready. Kuchiki and the others have been keeping her entertained, so don’t rush around. You’ll wear yourself out.” 

Shuuhei watched as Renji threw off his sleeping yukata and dug around for a clean set of day-clothes. It was so strange to not see piles and piles of black and white uniforms, choosing to slip on a dark blue robe decorated with white hydrangea as if it were simply a day off and he was going out with friends. The shinigami uniform carried a kind of dignity with it, one that Renji felt naked without.

“I’m not sick, Shuuhei.” Renji reminded Shuuhei gruffly. He held up a small hand-mirror at arm’s length and tried to arrange his choppy hair into a shape that looked less messy and unkempt than the pillow had left it. Honestly, short hair was insufferable. No wonder Ichigo always looked Like That. “Besides, I wanna see her as soon as possible.”

Nothing was said to that. Shuuhei just leaned his hip against the windowsill and watched as Renji attempted to build himself some confidence. 

Renji watched his reflection blink in the mirror. He couldn’t wait until his hair grew back. He hated the way that it fell over his tattoos and into his face, hanging over his eyes in a way that made him look wild and hunted. Or maybe that was just the stress. 

Despite that, he was still himself. The same Renji, with his strong jaw and the wolfish line of his nose. The same slender, dark eyes, the same tattoos that he had designed himself climbing up the width of his brow. 

The same broad shoulders, the same proud chest and strong, long limbs.

So why, then, did it feel like he was looking at someone else? Somehow, Renji  _ looked _ weaker. And he  _ hated _ that.

“Do you want me to bring her in?” Shuuhei asked, and Renji broke eye-contact with himself.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Renji felt bad asking Orihime to come talk to him alone, but it was better that they do this in private. 

* * *

“Abarai-kun, thank goodness you’re okay!” 

Renji was so shocked to have a pair of small arms suddenly flying around his waist, his hands hovered over Orihime’s shoulders in confusion of where he was supposed to put them. “Hey, Inoue. What’s up?”

He considered the human girl a friend, but they had never exactly been ‘hugging friends’. They really were only tied together by Rukia and Ichigo. In fact, sometimes Renji thought that Orihime was a little intimidated by him. 

And yet when Orihime pulled back, he saw a bright young woman who was much more confident than the uncertain teenage girl she had been. Her warmth surpassed any social boundaries. Copper-colored hair draped around her hips, and her smile had the welcoming air of a nurturing adult. 

Reading Renji’s reaction, Orihime flushed a little and clasped her hands together. “Kuchiki-san told me all about what happened. I’m sorry, I knew I should have come earlier, but there was an emergency at the hospital--”

“Don’t apologize. The last thing I want is a big fuss.” Renji replied, which he  _ thought  _ might be true. He knew that he definitely didn’t want Orihime to be stewing in guilt over something she couldn’t have known about. 

A memory hit him, of departing to Los Noches to save Inoue Orihime. Back then, Renji hadn’t really thought of what was happening to Orihime or how she was feeling trapped in Aizen’s clutches. Perhaps he even pitied her, a delicate little girl being menaced by evil. 

What a twist of fate that brought the two of them to where they stood now. 

Renji watched as Orihime spread a shield of glowing gold over him, making that ominous buzzing sound as he was surrounded by a busy energy. It wasn’t quite like the healing kidou he was used to; the power to reverse time was far more unnerving than simple medical aid. 

Orihime had her palms out, a wrinkle tensed between her eyebrows as she concentrated. Several moments of painful silence passed as Renji tensely watched as Orihime bit her bottom lip. 

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Is, uh, everything okay?”

“Honestly, I’m not quite sure.” She admitted, looking down. “The way my powers work-- I can heal wounds, but I can’t give spiritual energy. If there’s nothing for me to reject, then…”

“There’s nothing you can do.” Renji finished for her, and Orihime lowered her hands. The plate of glowing gold faded like a ghost. 

“I’m sorry.” She folded her arms behind her back and shifted awkwardly on her heels. The young woman could probably feel the disappointment and rolling off of Renji, and she was uncomfortable in the presence of his grief. “But there still might be a chance, right? Kurosaki-kun always got his reiatsu back when he lost it. Maybe you will as well?” 

Her pity stung. Renji felt the floor wobble beneath his legs, and he fell backwards to sit on the bed. His blood seemed to run cold under his skin.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not after everything he had gone through. He struggled and sweated and bled to become a powerful shinigami, and was supposed to spend the rest of his life enjoying the fruits of his labor. He was supposed to be a respected lieutenant, and maybe one day a captain if he continued to behave. 

Had none of it mattered at all? 

The mattress slightly dipped as another body sat down behind him. Orihime’s small hand reached for Renji’s larger one where it rested on his knee. She held it, her soft skin and gentle touch was the only kind of comfort Renji could take right now without being burned. 

* * *

  
  


This was not the worst thing that could have happened to him. By all accounts, Renji should have felt like a very lucky man right now.

He could be dead. He could have been worse than dead. But instead, his friends had come together to take care of him. Hooray. 

Under different circumstances, Renji really would feel honored. He would be overflowing with love for the people who stood by him, even when it was insanely difficult. And maybe after he had finished stewing in this ocean of self-pity, he would be able to express that. 

Izuru did not say anything about regret. Not about leaving the Third Division, which he had literally sacrificed his life and soul for. Not about being a criminal in the eyes of the Gotei--  _ again. _ Renji wasn’t entirely sure whether it was because Izuru was bottling those feelings of remorse deep down, or because he truly thought it was worth it to be able to save Renji’s life. 

Renji could ask, but he wasn’t sure which answer he was most afraid of. 

In fact, the only thing that Izuru appeared to miss was Renji’s hair. 

Renji would catch him hovering, waiting patiently until he was sure that Renji was in a less dour mood than he had typically been. Then Izuru would curl up against Renji just like he always did, and things would feel almost normal.

Until Izuru ran his fingers through Renji’s hair, his slender fingers soothingly coming through red tresses. They would come up short, his nails accidentally scraping against Renji’s neck where he instinctively expected more length to be. 

Renji did not complain, but regardless a hot prickle of shame stabbed his spine. 

Shuuhei, meanwhile, did what he always did when he was stressed: he worked. Never mind the fact that his injury was far more serious than Renji’s little scrapes and bruises. It was impossible to keep him sitting still, he was always busy getting things for the house or preparing their emergency defense spells with Rukia. 

Shuuhei and Rukia seemed to be working together a lot. A strange friendship blossomed between them during Renji’s absence, apparently They were able to match each other’s intensity, Shuuhei’s steel resolve paired with Rukia’s fiery willpower.

The two of them reassured Renji over and over that he didn’t need to worry about anything, that he should just take it easy and focus on resting his exhausted body and mind. 

But Renji worried about them. He feared they were setting themselves up for disappointment when they eventually realized that all of this, all their planning and fretting over what needed to be done next, wouldn’t actually make anything better.

Especially for Shuuhei, who would be the one who had to live with it. 

  
  


The house was divided into two sections; the back half was the master bedroom where Renji, Izuru and Shuuhei slept, and the front room that hosted a revolving door of comers and goers. 

Ichigo and Orihime had no choice to stay for several days at a time, since traveling between the World of the Living and Soul Society would be time consuming. Occasionally Renji had to bite back the bitter question of why they didn’t just go home, since there wasn’t much for them to do just hanging around the house and observing his suffering.

Momo came over in the morning, cooking breakfast so that Shuuhei could sleep in. Sometimes she brought flowers, Renji waking up to see a single cherry blossom branch lying on his bedside table. 

Rangiku came in the evenings, sitting in the windowsill while the dusk pulled at her black robes. She brought liquor and sweets with her, with frosting as pink as her smile.

“Don’t think about it,” she told Renji, holding out a box of taiyaki and jostling it encouragingly. Her tone was light and sisterly, but there was a softness in her eyes. Rangiku only showed true tenderness around a handful of people, and Renji had the sense he should be touched to be one of them. “You’ve earned some good things.”

Ikkaku would wander in around midday. Sometimes Yumichika came with him, but more often he was alone. 

There was definitely a distance between them now. Ikkaku understood better than anyone what Renji had lost, and the knowledge carved a wide canyon between them. He was uncomfortable in the presence of Renji’s mourning, and who could blame him?

He came anyway, though. And he was the only one brave enough to tell Renji what the others wouldn’t.

“They’re not looking for you, if that means anything.” Ikkaku bounced Hozukimaru on his knee. He was sitting on the table with his bare feet propped up, trying to keep casual in his delivery. “Best guess is that Kyoraku is gonna try to sweep this all under the rug. No one wants to admit there was almost another civil war, everybody pointin’ their swords at each other and taking sides. They probably won’t bother you as long as you stay out here.”

That was rather typical in how the Gotei handled their exiles, wasn’t it? Renji chewed on his knuckle. “Would be pretty wild if they did. If they made a big fuss about executing me at this point, it would stain Kyoraku’s nice lil’ progressive, peacemaker image.”

Now that conflict had been sown among the divisions, they couldn’t risk accidentally turning Renji into a martyr. Better to erase his existence altogether.

They’d appoint a new vice-captain to the Sixth Division. Burn all his documentation and medical files. Sweep out his quarters and his desk. As if Renji never came to the Seireitei at all. A spark of rage touched Renji’s chest, and it was refreshing to feel righteous anger again. 

“That doesn’t account for the rest of the Narcissus Order, though. They’ll make a new Gensei and try to pick right back up.”

Ikkaku shrugged. “Yeah, well. That was before they were on Kuchiki’s radar, wasn’t it? That girl seemed to take your situation personally, I think she’s gonna try to drive out those cultists before they do more damage.” 

Renji cocked an eyebrow, folded his arms over his chest. “You think that’ll work?”

“What else can she do?”

_ Leave _ . Renji’s brain automatically supplied him.  _ That place is a lost cause, anyway. _

He didn’t say it, though. He could have said it to Rukia, to Ikkaku or Momo or Rangiku or anyone else who was able to go home. 

“Oh, there was one other thing! It doesn’t have to do with you, but it’s pretty funny.”

“Funny would be fine right now.” 

“Apparently on the same night you set off that light show, Kurotsuchi bit the dust.” Ikkaku grinned, a smug glint to his teeth. “Sadistic bastard must’ve blown himself up, all that’s left of him is a puddle of goo.”

Renji squinted. What an odd coincidence. “Huh.”

  
  


Even the visoreds came by to check on him, which was both flattering and deeply awkward. Of course, Kensei really came for Shuuhei and Rose came for Izuru, but Renji felt they were entitled to his gratitude. He just wasn’t any good at showing it, so he made polite chat when prompted and otherwise avoided them. 

There was one person, however, that Renji couldn’t help noticing never showed up. And he told himself that he wasn’t offended, that he didn’t care. He and Byakuya had never had a real ‘bond’ anyways. They were captain and lieutenant, never mind how fucking hard Renji had worked to impress him. 

(He had thought once before that maybe, maybe in another life, they could have been friends. But that was ridiculous; Byakuya would never be friends with the likes of him. Not then, and especially not now.) 

Renji got some satisfaction from telling himself that Byakuya would never have a lieutenant as good as he was. Let Captain Kuchiki remain a lonely, sad little rich boy. Let the Sixth Division fall into misery and silence around him, without Renji’s loudness to stir it’s blood. 

Fuck him. Just. Fuck that fucking prick. 

* * *

  
  


Rukia brought in a large table for the main room after they had cleared out the guest futons. Despite it being much too bulky in her small grasp, Rukia swung the table around as easily as if it were made of cardboard, forcing Renji to dodge a sharp wooden edge. Of course she could; Rukia was brimming with spiritual power. In Renji’s hands, it would just be heavy and awkward.

The table made a low ‘thunk’ as Rukia set it on the floor. She smiled at her work, but Renji thought that she might also look tired. There was a tense stiffness sitting in her shoulders. A drooping weight resting on her eyelids. 

“I found a nice blanket, too. So in the winter, you guys can use it as a kotatsu.”

She turns her hips to look in Renji’s direction expectantly. Renji, for his part, belatedly realized this required a little more from him than leaning in the doorway. 

He looked towards where the table sat on the floor. It was just a plain, ordinary piece of furniture. But it would be the piece of furniture where Renji ate his meals from now on, in this house where he lived now. He had moved from the basement to a bigger, nicer cage.

“‘S fine.” Renji offered with a shrug. Rukia’s lips twisted in a frown. 

Her hands were set on her waist. She wore those white gloves, and Renji could see a small freckle of crimson staining the white silk. Rukia hadn’t had any time to clean them properly, because she had been busy trying to take care of him. 

“What do you want to do today?” She asked. “We could go for a walk. You haven’t seen much of the neighborhood yet, have you? Then perhaps we could run through some drills and test your endurance. It would be good to know how much you can handle at this stage.” 

A twist of excitement knotted in Renji’s gut at the thought of training with Zabimaru again. She had been sitting between Kazeshini and Wabisuke mostly untouched since they had arrived, occasionally reaching out to Renji with faint pulses of power. Her low growls, the scent of hot mist. 

At the same time, he wasn’t sure he wanted to endure the humiliation of Rukia watching him get exhausted and struggle when his puny spiritual power betrayed him. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

That was not the correct answer. Rukia’s gaze hardened and hit him like steel. 

“Abarai Renji,” God. What a mom. “I know you’ve never given anything less than 150% percent, and I know that you’re not going to stop that now.”

She was right. Renji had always given everything his all. Training, working, fighting. And look where it got him.

“I don’t  _ have _ 150% anymore.” He shot back bitterly, his teeth scraping over his words. “It’s just gonna be this from now on.”

“That’s not true! You’re going to get stronger. You always do. It’s the kind of man you are.” 

The problem with Rukia was that when she said things, Renji believed them. No matter how impossible it was, or how low he was feeling. That was why she was a much better person than he was. 

Renji was a liar, and Rukia never lied. Not to him, at least.

“You can’t do it on your own. You need help right now, and that’s okay. But don’t forget everything you’ve accomplished just to make it this far. You deserve to be proud of yourself.”

Rukia held out a fist and bumped her knuckles against Renji’s wide chest. Looking down at her, Renji couldn’t block out a wave of admiration for this woman, who was hard and tender at the same time, and embodied everything Renji wished he was.

“You’re right.” 

_ But I need time to be sad and angry about it first. _

He didn’t say that last part out loud, but Renji thought that Rukia understood even without him saying. Her face tilted towards the floor, sitting with the knowledge that she would have to be patient for him. 

She already waited 30 years for him. Now he would make her wait even more. 

Renji swallowed down the urge to apologize. It wouldn’t do either of them any good, but he was having a hard time forcing himself to look at Rukia’s dejected face.

On a whim, he tossed his gaze towards the window of the living room, out the open shutters to the dry summer day. There was a skinny maple tree growing next to the house, its trunk was elephant-gray and it’s branches were sparsely sprouting orange, hand-like leaves. He saw Ichigo under the tree.

Ichigo was standing up, looking at the long limbs stretching above him and enjoying the sparse shade hiding him from the sun. Zangetsu was still strapped to his back, a heavy and unruly shape pressing down on the young man’s strong shoulders. When Ichigo stretched his arms up in the air his wrist knocked against a low branch, causing an orange leaf to drift down and land on his head, almost seamlessly matching his hair. 

Something familiar stirred in Renji. He hadn’t felt it in a while like this, but the emotion fit him like a glove. 

Stronger than rage. Than grief. More overpowering than the throttle of depression that had been gripping Renji in an iron grasp. 

It was envy. 

“We can go for that walk. Give me a few moments to get changed, alright?” 

Rukia’s doubtful eyes flicked back up at him. “Are you sure?” 

His answer was another shrug, but Rukia was relieved to have any kind of victory. “Don’t take too long. It will get hot in the afternoon.” 

Renji left her then to go back to the bedroom, sliding the door shut behind him. The room was still mostly boxes, wanting a wardrobe to be packed into. 

There had to be at least one in here somewhere. Renji peeled open the boxes and sank his hands into layers of fabric. Something must have survived, made the journey amidst the rush and the panic. 

One did. It was almost inevitable; between Renji, Shuuhei and Izuru, they owned very little. The only thing the three of them had in surplus was shinigami uniforms. 

He pulled out the white and black fabric, the familiar heavy cotton scraping over his fingers. From the lack of sleeves attached, Renji presumed it was Shuuhei’s, but he was fine with that. 

He had no lieutenant’s badge. But he took Zabimaru down from her stand anyway, and that was all he really needed.

* * *

  
  


“Yo, Ichigo!”

The substitute turned around, and his eyebrows flew to the top of his brow in surprise. No matter how badly Ichigo tried to mask his emotions, the kid always wore his heart on his sleeve. It was no wonder that he couldn’t contain some shock at seeing Renji stride towards him, clad in shihakusho and carrying Zabimaru, as if it were a completely normal day. 

It would have felt better if Renji still had his ponytail. Even pushing his hair back with his bandana, strands kept falling into his face or sticking out awkwardly. No helping that, though.

“Hey,” Ichigo said back, and a toothy smile flashed. How long had it been since Renji saw Ichigo smile like that? It felt like ages. “You look like you’re feeling a lot better, huh?” 

“I keep telling you guys, I’m not sick!” 

“That’s not exactly what I meant.” Ichigo said, and then pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. As if he had said something he hadn’t meant to say. He quickly gestured toward Zabimaru resting on Renji’s hip as a distraction. “You’re back to training already?”

“Had to snap out of that funk sooner or later. You know me.” 

Renji put his hand to Zabimaru’s sheath. He  _ knew _ she was there, trying to grasp at him. Her four yellow eyes burned into the back of his head. She needed to be fed. 

A grin that didn’t entirely feel genuine peeled Renji’s lips. “What do ya’ say? You wanna help me get back into shape with some sparring?”

Ichigo’s brow furrowed deeper, which Renji didn’t even think was possible. “With what?”

“Our zanpakuto, obviously. What else would we use?” 

He watched as Ichigo’s face twisted into that trademark scowl, head cocked in that obstinate, stubborn way that surely made all of his teachers’ grit their teeth. In the past year or so, he had grown nearly as tall as Renji was. 

“You sure that’s a good idea? Maybe you should practice on your own for a while, first. Take it easy.” 

Renji’s patience quickly dissolved. He took Zabimaru, still sheathed, out of his sash and braced it on his shoulder. When he held his sword like this, it made him look big and strong. He knew that from years of practice. 

“I just told you; I’m not sick. And I’m not injured, either. I didn’t forget how to fight.” Chest puffed out, Renji jutted his chin towards Ichigo. ‘Sides, I’m not the one who’s been fussing around at school all year. I’ve been training and getting stronger while you’ve been studying, so don’t talk to me about ‘taking it easy’.”

This was the wrong thing to say. Renji knew how seriously Ichigo took his role as a protector of Karakura, and that he still deserved to have a normal life. He could go to school and grow up and find himself. He was owed that much.

But right now Renji didn’t care. He was gratified to see a dark look pass through Ichigo’s brown eyes, sparks of anger flying off him. 

If Ichigo was younger, that would have been all it would take to goad him into a fight. Renji could twist that teenage immaturity to his benefit. 

But today, he was wiser. More patient. Renji was unprepared to see Ichigo’s expression harden, and his arms folded over his chest. 

“There are plenty of shinigami around here.” He said, voice almost touching a stubborn growl. “Go ask one of them to help you.” 

“I didn’t ask them. I asked you.”

Renji stepped up into Ichigo’s space, crowding him with his bulk. It wasn’t right for him to bully like this, taking such an aggressive stance when Ichigo was just trying to do the right thing. Stll, Renji let his pent up, frustrated energy pour out of him-- he would force Ichigo into a fight if he had to. 

Ichigo’s annoyance was plain on his face. But there was something lying underneath it as well. Concern? Pity? It was a vile, soft thing for Renji to see. 

“One match, if it’ll shut you up.” Ichigo finally said sternly. 

“Fine.” Renji answered back, and went quickly to take his stance. They had to get this over with quickly, before Rukia or someone else realized Renji went off on his own.

Renji hardly needed to think as he prepared himself to strike. He had done this hundreds, if not thousands of times before, staring at Ichigo as Zabimaru’s blade bisected his image. This was what he was good at. 

Metal screeched as Zabimaru landed against Zangetsu, though of course Ichigo easily shrugged it off. Renji swung again, but his arms were too slow. Ichigo sidestepped, and left Renji slicing at air. 

Confidence shriveled inside Renji’s chest. This didn’t feel right. In Renji’s mind he could keep up with all of Ichigo’s movements, but his body didn’t follow suit. It felt like weights were tied to his hands and feet, dragging him down. 

He kept pressing forward. Another miss, another block, ad nauseum. Time began to slow down to a molasses-like crawl. Sweat beaded on Renji’s brow and dripped down his neck, his chest ached for air. 

And Ichigo hadn’t even made his first attack yet. 

“Do it!” Renji ordered through grit teeth, his sword locked with Zangetsu. “Hit me back!” 

Ichigo set his jaw. He pulled back and lunged forward, but it was a puny excuse for an attack. Holding back was difficult for Ichigo, but he was determined not to use any of his powers. 

Wrath curdled inside Renji’s stomach. He wanted to hurt Ichigo, just to prove to himself that he could. They were supposed to be rivals, they were supposed to always be pushing each other to do better. They were supposed to always be _ better. _

“You think I need your  _ fucking sympathy _ ?” Renji’s arms were beginning to shake under the weight of his own sword, but he refused to lower it. “You think you’re  _ better than me _ ?”

Ichigo pretended he hadn’t heard, just kept his eyes straight ahead, but a touch of red rose in his face. 

“Don’t you dare look down on me, you  _ damn brat _ !” 

That unlocked something. Maybe subconscious, maybe instinctual. Maybe the two of them had just fought against each other and with each other too many times, Zangetsu urgently wanted to break free. A burst of pure black energy exploded out of Ichigo’s sword, scalding the bright summer day with its infernal darkness. Renji’s arm held up Zabimaru, braced to catch Ichigo’s swing.

Renji felt a wave of energy smash into him like a brick wall falling down on his head. Then he heard a loud crack, and his arm twisting backwards at an angle it shouldn’t be able to reach. 

Zabimaru fell onto the dirt, Renji followed soon thereafter. 

“Renji!” 

Between the static of pain, Renji saw Ichigo throw down his sword and run towards him, panic lighting up his face and making him look like a boy again. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

He grabbed at Renji, and another blast of pain shot through him and made him roar. 

A thunder of footprints quickly followed suit. Of course everyone heard the commotion, he heard Momo gasp at the same time Rukia shouted across the field. 

“What the hell happened here?” 

“Renji!” Izuru flew to Renji’s side where he was kneeling in the dirt. Renji tried to bat away the prying fingers that were pulling his arms open, straightening out his twisted arm. “Let me see.” 

“It was an accident! I didn’t mean--” 

Ichigo tried to explain, but Izuru threw his arm back and shoved the substitute away. Just as quickly, he went back to Renji’s arm. “It’s broken. Why would you--”

Shuuhei was fast behind Izuru, though he didn’t kneel down at Renji’s side. Renji looked up at him through the glow of yellow healing kidou, and saw Shuuhei’s expression absolutely boiling underneath his messy black bangs. 

Ichigo lumbered up to his feet, his eyes wide and painted with guilt. “I--” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

Ichigo didn’t even try to block Shuuhei grabbing the front of his shihakusho in fistfulls and throwing him backwards. All he could do was flinch away from the dark-haired man’s rage. “You know he can’t use his powers! Are you stupid?”

“Shuuhei, back off. He didn’t mean to.”

Renji should not have said anything. Shuuhei’s eyes were black and stormy when they circled back to Renji, dripping with rage. Unexpectedly, Renji’s stomach dropped. “ _ You. _ ”

“Shuuhei, don’t.” Izuru muttered, not tearing his eyes off of Renji’s injury. There was the sound of bones popping and cracking as Izuru’s energy rushed through and knit Renji’s body back together. “I’ll fix it.” 

“Don’t even bother, he’s clearly not worth saving.” Shuuhei’s voice was a low growl, and his body was wound up tense. “He wants to be a big man and take care of himself. He can do it on his own.” 

Shuuhei stalked back to the house, leaving Renji with guilt and frustration and pain rolling around, feeling like they were all stabbing his insides at once. 

Izuru didn’t say anything else. He pursed his lips and swallowed dryly, brows knit in anxiety and eyes looking forward, seeing nothing.

* * *

  
  


The purpose of healing kidou was to put soldiers back on the field. Shinigami were like dolls; a wound could be sewn back up and re-stuffed, a limb could be reattached. Eventually, things like pain and agony didn’t really matter, because it was temporary. You either healed or you died. 

When Izuru was done, Renji’s arm was nearly perfect once again. There was only a little stiffness, a sting of pain when Renji turned his elbow the wrong way. 

“You should rest this arm for a few days,” Izuru said matter-of-factly. “If you aggravate the injury, it will become more damaged.”

“M’kay.” 

Izuru shut the door to their bedroom, though Renji was sure there were plenty of concerned buzzing going around outside still. 

Poor Ichigo. That image of him looking horrified at what he had done stained Renji’s mind. He was still just a kid, he didn’t need to see that. 

Renji sat on the low bed and chewed on his guilt, the aftertaste of which lingered unpleasantly on his tongue. Perhaps it served him right that Izuru had effectively just grounded him. Zabimaru had been put back on her spot, and she seemed to stare at him from across the room. 

Izuru’s bare feet hardly made any noise even as he walked across the tatami flooring, quiet as a cat. Renji looked at the floor and pretended he couldn’t feel the other man’s presence move around him, hands folded between his knees. 

“Shuuhei is really upset.” Izuru said in a voice that made it sound like he was pouting.

Renji turned his face away stubbornly. “Yeah, I figured that. He’ll get over it.” 

A very quiet sigh was exhaled through Izuru’s nose. For Izuru, being sad and frustrated was so common it was nearly normal. But it wasn’t right for Renji to be the one making him feel so dejected. Renji was supposed to be the one that brought Izuru back up, made him feel safe. 

The mattress dipped slightly as Izuru sat down beside Renji. “Would you lie down with me for a little while?” 

“I’m not tired.” 

“I am.” 

It wasn’t many years ago that Renji would be the one sitting down on Izuru’s bed, calming him down, soothing him. When things seemed hopeless and Izuru couldn’t find a way out, Renji would be the one who stroked his back and kissed his forehead until the anguish of night passed into a new, more bearable morning. Every night they spent together was a night further away from what haunted him.

And this was why Renji couldn’t say no to him. He could put his foot down to Rukia, and even to Shuuhei. Even when Renji wanted to be alone right now and stew in his own self-pity, to stay awake and anxious until he made himself as physically ill as he felt inside his head. He still couldn’t turn Izuru away. 

Renji lay back on the bed, let the soft mattress and the cool sheets take him. Izuru lay down with him, pressed up against Renji’s side with his blond head on top of his chest. He liked to listen to Renji breathing. He liked to trace the black tattoos under Renji’s clothes with his nails. 

“There was a bed in the basement.” 

“The basement?”

“Where the Narcissus Order had me.” Renji admitted. He realized that this was the first time he was actually describing what happened during that whole… thing. Talking about it felt like admitting his fear, and he didn’t want to feed Izuru or anyone else’s anxieties. 

Izuru ran his index finger over the tattoos caging Renji’s stomach. He didn’t need to look to see where he was tracing, he had memorized the patterns long ago.

“What was it like?”

“Honestly? It was boring.” Renji said, then caught himself. Had it really been boring? No, that wasn’t it. “It was lonely, mostly. And sad. And scary.” 

_ I was scared. _

The words felt poisonous. The one thing Renji couldn’t say, even if it was written all over him. 

“They did that on purpose. To remind me that I was useless.”

“You are not useless.” 

Izuru’s voice was so suddenly stern that it was almost comical. Like a child stoically reminding an adult of their table manners. Renji’s lips cracked before he realized that Izuru was looking at his face and frowning.

“That isn’t funny.” 

“No, it isn’t.” Renji agreed, and he lifted his arm underneath Izuru to rub the blond man’s back. His other arm was still sore where it lay on top of his body. “Sorry.”

Izuru was quiet for a long time. He didn’t breath as much since the accident. After the surgery, he would go so still that Renji would check to make sure there was still breath on his lips. Now, there was a sort of halted rhythm to his heartbeat, and the way his chest rose and fell. A soft flutter of gentle wings.

Finally, Izuru spoke very softly.

“I missed you so much.” He said, and Renji could tell that Izuru’s voice was edging on tears. “I missed you so much it hurt. And I was so afraid that I was going to lose you, and I would spend the rest of my life missing you as much as I did then. Do you know what that felt like?”

Renji felt his memories try to drag him back to that dark place, but he resisted. “Yeah.”

Izuru’s hands grabbed a fistful of Renji’s robe and held it close to his face, pulling himself in until Renji could only see a head of messy, flaxen hair pressing into his side. 

“Do you know what I missed about you?” Izuru said into Renji’s ribs. “I missed your smile. And your hands. I missed your passion, and your humor, and your kindness. I missed the way you made me happier just by being in the room. I never, even once, missed how strong you were or how good you were at fighting for me.” 

Renji combed his fingers through the short hairs on the back of Izuru’s neck. The things that Izuru described, they didn’t feel to Renji like it was actually about himself. He had never been good, or funny, or nice. Izuru was just determined to see the best in people. 

“Renji, look at me.”

He didn’t want to. A heavy weight pressed down on his chest, far heavier than Izuru. Renji’s eyes fixed on the darkest corner of the ceiling, just like in the basement when he slept all day to try and escape his body and mind. 

“Renji.” 

The bed groaned underneath them as Izuru rolled onto his knees, and sat up over Renji. Cool hands cupped Renji’s face, soft palms on his cheeks, pulling Renji’s face and forcing him to look straight into Izuru’s blue, glistening eyes. Tears were clinging to his eyelashes, threatening to spill over and fall onto Renji’s face. 

“Izuru, don’t cry.” He was going to make Renji start tearing up, too, and he wasn’t going to be able to stand that. 

“It’s like you don’t even realize. You don’t realize how much it means to us-- me and Shuuhei and the others, to have you here with us. You’re so wonderful, and we’re so lucky to be in your life. The rest of it, the Gotei and everything, doesn’t even compare.” 

Izuru’s voice cracked, his pale face was tinted with pink. Renji felt that his heart was being squeezed inside his chest, but he didn’t trust himself to interrupt.

“So don’t push yourself because you think you have to, or because you think you’re not good enough the way you are. You will always, always be irreplaceable.” 

Renji lifted his arm to try and cover his face, shield himself from the overwhelming power of Izuru’s love, but his arms were blocking the way. “I don’t wanna cry in front of you.”

“If you wanna cry, then cry.” Izuru said, his lips brushing Renji’s forehead. “But I’m not going anywhere.” 

Renji’s throat tightened, choking on his own breath. He couldn’t hold in the hot tears rising to the rims of his eyes, or the ache of affection that threatened to burst his chest. So he put his hands on Izuru’s face, pulled him in, and kissed him.

The kiss started hard, as if Renji was trying to push all the emotion out of him, but Izuru’s lips were soft and his touch was gentle. And it became sweet, and tender, and slow. 

It was something that Renji shouldn’t have been okay with; kissing the tears off of Izuru’s face, and Izuru kissing the tears off of his. It should have been pitiful, pathetic, but it wasn’t.

Izuru loved him. Izuru thought he was wonderful. That was amazing. 

Renji kissed Izuru’s neck, ran his lips over the smooth, crane-like curve of his soft throat. Why did it feel like it had been ages since Renji had the taste of him? Like it was the first time, when they were younger and stupider, when Renji first smelled Izuru’s skin and pressed the edge of his teeth down on his round little shoulder. 

His teeth no longer made a mark on Izuru’s skin. His fingers could leave bruises that would fade away like waves washing away imprints on the sand. Izuru was so strong. His rescuer. His angel. 

Izuru’s fingers unraveled Renji’s robe, parted the layers of fabric so he could kiss his way down the black lighting-bolt tattoos drawn across Renji’s torso. Each place where he pressed his mouth, Renji’s skin lit up like fire. Heat ran through his body like veins of lava, overstimulation prickling him with every touch.

Was this what it was like to be touched without his reiatsu shielding him? When Renji had been injured, the pain felt so raw and powerful. Now these gentle kisses and caresses took his breath away. 

Renji’s back arched, trying to push his entire body towards Izuru’s mouth. Izuru’s fingers dragged down over Renji’s ribs, pressed thumbs into his hips, like he was hungry for Renji’s body and had been starving in its absence. 

“Izuru…” Renji's voice was ragged behind his gritted teeth. He wasn’t going to last like this, but he wanted this to remain as long as possible. 

“Shh,” Izuru hushed him, voice low and soft like a swooping bird. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” 

Renji’s arms reached around Izuru and dug his short, blunt nails into his slender back. He gripped Izuru like an anchor. His thighs squeezed Izuru’s hips, and every inch where their bodies touched Renji felt that explosion of love and affection and pleasure between them. He buried himself in it and inside Izuru until he saw stars.

* * *

  
  


“So when are you going to talk to Shuuhei?”

Renji groaned and rolled over to bury his face in the pillow. “You scoundrel. Seducing me just so you can attack me in my weakened state.” 

“Don’t blame me.” Izuru shrugged innocently, and pulled his messy, post-sex bedhead bangs out of his face. “I would have been happy if he joined us just now, but you two always have to be stubborn about things. And it never helps when I try to referee.” 

Renji grunted in response, muffled by fabric. 

Izuru was quiet for a moment, which was never a good sign. Arranging his thoughts. 

“He’s worried about you.” Izuru finally landed on, and placed his hand against Renji’s back. “That’s all it is.”

“I know. That’s the problem.” 

A beat of silent judgement mixed with fretting from Izuru’s side. Renji sighed deeply, and dug inside himself for the will to sit up. He ran his fingers through his hair, catching the strands that stuck to the back of his neck and to his face. Izuru watched him re-tie his robe. 

“Where is he now?”

“In the garden.” 

Renji’s nose crinkled. “We have a garden?” 

“Sort of. I guess you still haven’t been outside much. You’ve had a lot on your mind, so I didn’t expect that you had noticed.” 

Izuru sat up and pulled his knees up to his chest, letting the blanket pool over his lap. When Renji looked over, he could see Izuru’s full eyes hovering. Staring owlishly, not blinking quiet enough. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” Izuru’s lip quirked at the corner. “I just love you.”

Renji snorted, throwing Izuru one more side-long look as he went towards the door. “Love you, too.”

He missed saying those words. Missed saying them every day.   
  


It was still very hot outside, but easing closer to evening. The sky was beginning to turn pink, a warm summer night determinately gnawing on the long, hot day. Renji walked out the side door, better to avoid crowds taking up his front room. 

He wasn’t ready for that yet. 

Setting foot outside, looking up at a Sun that was slowly crawling down, Renji figured that anyone sensible would put away their manual work and turn in for the evening. It would be too dark to see soon, so only a stubborn, hard-headed idiot would still be out. 

But Shuuhei, of course, was doing what he always did when he was annoyed, or angry, or sad, or really any kind of upset; he worked.

Izuru was right to call it a ‘sort of’ garden. Renji only saw a big, square patch of dirt sitting in the middle of the grass field. It looked naked and puny, just piled of soil with too many rocks embedded in the dirt. 

Renji didn’t know anything about growing plants. The Inuzuri was not a place where life was nurtured, the ground there was dry and dead. The plants that did grow there were just like the children: scrawny and tough. 

Then when Renji went to the Seireitei, he ate whatever was served to him. Most produce came from farms in the higher levels of the Rukongai, absorbed into the white walls to feed the nobles and the soldiers. 

It didn’t take long for Renji’s eyes to land on the lone figure working the earth. 

Renji knew that Shuuhei never truly enjoyed fighting. He was happiest when he was writing, or learning. He had a brilliant, terrifyingly focused mind that needed to be fed all hours of the day. He needed books, and parchment, and hours of silence to be alone with his thoughts. When Shuuhei spoke, he often talked like a teacher.

Everyone knew this about Shuuhei. So it surprised people to learn that Shuuhei was raised on a farm in District 55. He grew up with tools in his hands and dirt in the creases of his knuckles. It was part of the reason he was so self-sufficient. 

Renji could tell even as he watched Shuuhei; his sleeves folded back in his preferred style, letting sweat drip down his lean, toned arms. His shoulders rounding with the effort of methodically turning over dirt with the shovel gripped firmly in his hands. That tension in his jaw, the steely look of concentration in his eyes. 

No, it wasn’t fair to say that Shuuhei was capable because of his background. Just like it wouldn’t be fair to say Shuuhei was disciplined because of his training as a shinigami. It was simply that whatever Shuuhei put his mind to, he would find a way to get it done. 

Renji watched for a while, waiting until Shuuhei found his own stopping point. The dark-haired man straightened his back, wiped sweat off of his neck. 

“A picture will last longer.” Shuuhei intoned, barely looking over. 

Renji bit down on the urge to snark back. Though he did allow himself to fold his arms and sulk a little. 

“You’re good at that.” Renji said, jutting his chin towards the patch of freshly turned soil. The words fell rather lamely, he could have kicked himself for saying them. 

“I’m alright.” Shuuhei eyed his own work critically. His eyes then lifted back up to Renji, that critical gaze scanning up and down. Renji rather felt he was on display, and not quite in the way Izuru had him just a little while ago in bed. “Izuru healed your arm.”

“Yeah,” Renji rotated his shoulder to demonstrate. “But he told me not to wear it out for a while.”

“Good.” 

Shuuhei stared for a few minutes. His expression was stony, an intense, narrow set to his dark eyes. His lips were pressed in a grim little frown. 

Finally, he spoke again.

“I’m angry with you.”

It was so abrupt and on the nose, Renji almost laughed. That wouldn’t help anything, though, so Renji just tried to hide his smile behind his fist.

“Yeah, I got that.”

Shuuhei looked like he wanted to say something else. His lips tightened into a scowl, a clear fog of frustration sitting on his mind. 

Instead, he tossed down his shovel and started to walk. 

Renji expected Shuuhei to stalk up to him, maybe get in his face. Shuuhei could be unpredictable when he was in a mood, and recent circumstances had been… stressful to say the least. 

Instead, Shuuhei strode up to a bucket sitting on the side porch. He plunged his hands in and splashed water onto his face, rubbing away at the dirt and mud and sweat sticking to his skin. 

Renji shook his head in disbelief as he watched. Shuuhei always had to do things the hard way. He had been so closed off when Renji and Izuru brought him into their relationship, not wanting to be the third wheel. He opened up little by little, inch by inch. Gradually, he unfurled into his true self. 

Even now Shuuhei did things the way he wanted to, instead of the easy way. He didn’t even take off the top of his yukata, which was filthy with dirt and sweat and now mostly soaked. 

The gears churned in Renji’s head, and his eyes narrowed. Hold on a tick…

Renji reached around and grabbed the front of Shuuhei’s robe, ignoring the indignant noise of protest that he got for his efforts. 

“Hey!” 

Too quickly, though, Renji yanked one fold of the fabric to the side, revealing the white bandages that Izuru had bound Shuuhei’s injury from when he had been impaled by Gensei. 

As suspected, there was a stain of red spotting the bandages. 

“Son of a bitch.” Renji wasn’t sure whether to be amused or furious, his eyes magnetically drawn to that stain. The only other thing he could bring himself to look at was Shuuhei’s face, pinched with shame. 

“Don’t start.” Shuuhei yanked his robe out of Renji’s grip, then turned away to readjust it.

“ _ ‘Don’t start?’ _ ” Renji gawked, feeling himself begin to get heated all over again. “How could I not? After you were so pissed at me for pushing myself, but here you are doing the same fucking thing.”

“It’s different.” Shuuhei hissed, refusing to meet Renji’s eyes. 

“How the hell is it different?”

“Because it’s  _ my fault!” _

Shuuhei’s voice hit a raspy, gravely hitch, and when he turned to look at Renji his entire face had opened up. Suddenly his eyes looked big and white, his brown face had an unnatural paleness to it. 

Shuuhei always tried to remain calm and collected. To always be the mature senpai that everyone could rely on, especially Renji. He tamped down on his feelings as he could stand, but all that emotion had broken it’s threshold. Now, he looked scared. Scared and young. 

“I should have protected you, when we first noticed something was wrong! And then when you were taken, we tried so hard to find you but nothing was good enough.” Shuuhei’s chest heaved with the effort of holding all his anxiety. “I couldn’t save the house. I couldn’t save your powers. I was barely able to save your life. If Izuru hadn’t been there, we’d both have died!”

This sudden, retroactive terror, the sheer intensity of Shuuhei’s emotions hit Renji like a tidal wave. He wasn’t sure what to do, what he  _ could _ do. Had Shuuhei been feeling this the whole time?

Shuuhei clutched at his waist. Over the spot where the wound had reopened and bled through the binding. 

“It was so-- Renji, I was so  _ fucking _ scared. It felt like there was nothing I could do.” His voice rattled with each word. His eyes looked at the ground but didn’t appear to take in anything. “And then I saw you get hurt again. It was like, there was still nothing I could do for you. Even now, I know you’re miserable, and I can’t help you, and that kills me. It just kills me.” 

His chest heaved, limbs crooked in towards his body like he was losing the strength to stand. Panic and concern flushed through Renji’s systems like ice water, and any anger he was holding onto instantly evaporated. He instinctively reached out to catch Shuuhei in case he might fall, and it felt good to hold Shuuhei’s arms in his hands. 

“Hey, hey! It’s alright…” Renji was surprised how quickly the soothing voice came to him. He guided Shuuhei to sit down with him on the porch. 

Shuuhei didn’t cry like Izuru did, with tears clinging for dear life and almost flooding over. And he didn’t try to hold it in like Renji until his eyes turned red and itchy. Shuuhei just held his forehead in his hands and let rivers of grief freely spill down the apples of his cheeks and drip off of his chin, everything gushing out all at once. 

Renji ran his fingers through Shuuhei’s black hair, and his heart ached so deeply. A vexing thought occurred that this must have been how Shuuhei felt to see Renji lost in a fog of depression, and then getting himself needlessly hurt just to prove a point. 

There was a white rag hanging off the side of the bucket. Renji scooped it up with one hand and used the other to pull Shuuhei’s chin up to see his face, Shuuhei’s eyes pink and staring blearily into Renji’s chest. 

“It’s okay.” Renji echoed Izuru’s words as he used the rag to clean Shuuhei’s face. Some focus returned to Shuuhei’s gaze, and he tilted his head to allow Renji to wipe away the tears, sweat and dirt sticking to his skin. “It’s not your fault, Shuuhei.”

Those gray eyes finally found Renji again, clearing up like starshine. 

“It’s not yours, either.”

It was hard to focus on anything without feeling like Renji’s own throat was going to twist itself in knots, so he focused on Shuuhei’s face. On the way he leaned in when Renji ran the rag down over his chin and across his neck. 

“Look, about earlier-- I’m sorry--”

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have blown up at you or the kid.” Shuuhei said. It was amazing, even as he was dripping like a faucet and his face was red from crying, his voice was still low and clear. “It must be… you must be so lonely. No one really gets what you went through on your own, or what you’re going through now. You deserve to be mad and frustrated. You deserve to do whatever you want.”

Renji couldn’t help but smirk. Whatever he wanted? To be honest, he had never really thought about it before.

Everything Renji had wanted, he thought it was in the Gotei. He thought it meant getting stronger and earning respect, but the work never seemed to pay off. It was never about being happy in the end. Once he got what he wanted, another want would appear. 

Shuuhei lifted his hand and wrapped his fingers around Renji’s wrist. His hands were warm and his grip was tight, but there was still something so soft to his touch. Such sincere affection poured out of his expression towards Renji, it was almost a little intimidating to stand in the presence of his intense love.

“I want to take care of you, Renji. If there’s anything I can do to keep you safe, happy and healthy, I want to do it.” Shuuhei said evenly. “I want to take care of you, and I want you to let me. Please let me treat you as good as you deserve.” 

It was no small favor for Shuuhei to ask. For Renji to allow himself to recognize his weaknesses, and to depend on Shuuhei. It would be hard.

But also, it would be nice.

Renji put his hands on either side of Shuuhei’s head and pulled him in until their foreheads were touching. Until he could smell Shuuhei and the metal of his tools and feel the heat of his breath on his own lips. 

“You said I could do whatever I wanted, right?” Renji said to him, his lips peeling into a grin. The muscles of his face felt odd, like they were remembering how to smile so widely again. “I wanna get married.” 

Shuuhei’s eyes widened, an earnest confusion blanking out his features. 

“What?

“You heard me. You, me and Izuru.” Renji could taste his own excitement. “Let’s have a big, fuck-off wedding party. We’ll invite only people we like and celebrate for a whole year. Let’s eat and drink until we can’t move anymore. And when we can move, we’ll fuck until we can’t move again.” 

Renji could already see it in his mind. Flowers and ribbons. Music. Laughing. Enough joy to purge out every shitty thing he had ever seen. To erase this past month-- this past lifetime, if need be. But keep only the good things. 

“Let’s grow food in your dinky garden, and get a bunch of dogs. And for the rest of our lives, we’ll only do things that make us happy.” 

He watched as Shuuhei tried to wrap his brain around it. A slight, tiny smile finally cracking his lost expression. His dark eyes were half-lidded, painfully fond.

“Okay,” He said. “Yeah, let’s do it.” 

Renji kissed him, hands holding the back of Shuuhei’s head and neck, wanting to drink in all of him. And when he pulled away and opened his eyes, he could see Izuru standing in the doorway watching them, his cheeks glowing with a smile and looking so wonderfully soft. 

* * *

  
  


Of course, he didn’t know for certain that it was actually going to happen. That was the scary part. 

Renji didn’t know that they were going to be happy. He didn’t know if Ichigo was going to forgive him, or if his friends were going to understand him and keep coming to see him when he lived so far away now. 

He didn’t know if Rukia was going to drive out the rest of Gensei’s minions. If she was going to become a captain, and use her power and her vision to make Soul Society into a better version of itself. If Momo, Rangiku, Ikkaku and Yumichika were going to stay in the Seireitei and try to save it, or if they were going to leave as well and start new lives separate from what the Gotei wanted for them. 

He didn’t know if Ichigo and Orihime were going to go back to the human world and live magnificent lives that were free from war and endless violence. That their human bodies would age and wither until they fell apart like petals falling off the flowers, until they passed peacefully into Soul Society-- this time for good. And Renji didn’t know if he would still be here to greet them when they arrived.

He didn’t know if he would get stronger again, becoming a little bit tougher and a little bit faster every day. Never at the same monstrous strength he had been before, but enough that he could hear Zabimaru’s voice as clear as a bell in his mind. Could feel her fur and her scales like they were his own skin, and her outrageous, howling joy at being reunited. 

He didn’t know for certain that his hair would grow out again, longer and redder than ever before. And that one day he would look down at the long curtains draped over his shoulders and see streaks of silver mixed in with the scarlet. 

He didn’t know that he would get to grow old with the two men he loved most in the universe. And that one day, every day would be a blessing and these moments of pain would become distant memories. 

He didn’t know. And that was what made it so scary. And it would be a lot of hard work. 

That was what made it so exciting.


End file.
